This Just In: Guillaume and I are wired in completely different ways.
He is a careful thinker whose default mode is ‘Quiet Contemplation.’ By the time he actually gets around to vocalizing his thoughts, he's thought things through thoroughly and drawn an informed conclusion. Whereas I idea generate in real time and ramble on without a filter, often incoherently. I don't stand a chance sparring with him at an intellectual level – or any level, really. While he's considered just about every possible scenario, I've only begun percolating the necessary information. In the end, everything slips off my tongue sounding embryonic, inferior, and just plain stupid.
Resultantly, he usually spends a good amount of our time together trying to wizen me up. Weekends with him remind me of enrichment camp, when he whips out his phone at dinner and reads me stuff off Wikipedia. Though in the moment my mind is like, "sheesh, babe, just let me eat my chawanmushi in peace." I'm always glad to return home with tidbits of new knowledge. He has never hit me in the head for being dumb, but I do see how explaining things to me is energy draining to him. And sometimes, like when he translates Le Petit Prince, he wears a look of exasperation, thinking I don’t make the effort to meet him halfway in comprehension. Which is partly true, as he mumbles a lot and I usually try to avoid using my brain excessively outside of the office.
Apart from the quality of his thoughts, Guillaume also has the ability to think long range into the future and anticipate the implications of any action. He's figured out how the world works and has an inkling of where things are headed, and most significant of all, he can foresee what's coming down the pike. Or perhaps not, as we will later learn as the story unfolds.
In stark contrast, my field of vision is limited to 2 steps in front of me and I'm slightly schizophrenic. I flutter from topic to topic and jump to quick (and often inaccurate) conclusions. Touch-and-go is my forte, and I oscillate between random extremes from one minute to the next. My exploration process moves fast and works largely on my intuition and hunches. I'm absolutely no good at articulating any opinions and information with supporting data and metrics, which just so happens to be his bread and butter.
Guillaume is the ultimate planner. Not in an overbearing control freak kind of way. But more like, “wow, how does he do that, what is this sorcery?” kind of way. He seems to have mapped out how he's going to behave in future situations and gleans energy from determining the best of all possible approaches. Though extremely capable of improvising, he has shown to rapidly lose energy (not to mention patience) if he is repeatedly called to act without deliberating for prolonged periods of time.
I severely lack the foresight and focus that Guillaume is overflowing with. My plans almost always veer off-course to the point where I don't even try to make any concrete plans or detailed outlines these days. Taking everything in stride, I've learnt how to thrive on the excitement of not knowing what comes next and embrace the possibility that anything can happen. No idea where to have dinner tonight, "oooooooh..." I squeal in delight. "What! I thought you had a place in mind," Guillaume says, with no faith in serendipity and visibly annoyed that we now have to spend the first part of our lovely evening wandering the streets hand in hand, in search of food.
Aside from our minds being very dissimilar, so are our dispositions poles apart. Guillaume likes to be in a bit of discomfort. To drive, drive, drive things forward. To raise, raise, raise the bar. It's admirable, really. And it is the secret sauce to his competence and efficiency, which he prizes above all. Being a little agitated, angry, and unfulfilled is what pushes him to actualize his goals.
I, on the other hand, want fun! Harmony. Play. Joy. Cuddles. Relax. Joy. Joy. Chocolate sprinkles. Yay. Picking up on social nuances and recognizing someone's uneasiness and then comforting them is one of the few things that comes to me quite naturally. Sometimes it's just what he needs, but not as much or as often as my instincts tell me. Most days he doesn't want to be talked out of his mildly perturbed state, especially when it's about something he wants to accomplish.
As if discrepancies in our thinking and temperaments aren't enough, our intensions always seem to be lost in translation in our communication. While the French-speaking population likes to ask, "et mon cul, c'est du poulet?" the English-speaking population almost never asks, "is my ass made out of chicken?"
Guillaume likes s p a c e. A lot of it. He needs physical space. When we first started spending nights together, he (6.3 ft with slight tummy) would often accuse me (5.3 ft with cute pooch) of crushing him in his sleep and blame his backaches on the way my limbs tangled with his in my sleep. But more than that, he needs mental space with his ideas, so he can ponder and apply himself accordingly to make wonderful shit happen in real life. And most of all, he needs emotional space. He hates stating the obvious and lives by the saying "actions speak louder than words," with his assumption that his behavior makes clear his feelings. Emotion is the one realm that logic does not always apply to, and it is therefore his personal kryptonite and something he would like not to have to talk about at all costs.
To his dismay, I am full of feelings – and the unregulated kind at that. I am constantly feeling the feels, yet have no clue how to apply logic and reason to guide my expression and acceptance of them. Dealing with me when I'm emotional makes him feel out of his depth. I be like, "helllllooooooo? Hi! Hi! Honey! Hi! Hi! Are you here? Can you be affectionate with me? Affirm me, maybe?" Often he tries to talk me out of my feelings so we can all move on, act rationally, and avoid this uncomfortable situation.
His need for space in his operating style makes me feel lost in the cold at moments, abandoned even. For someone who, like a pup, constantly tries to lessen the space between herself and everyone else, his perplexing cat-like behavior is hard to compute and I'm prone to making him feel invaded. Though I have not dared to utter the words "I love you" in a romantic context since the demise of my last real relationship just over a year ago, I have screamed it a thousand times in my eagerness to play and talk and have fun together. And conceivably, so has he, in the meals he prepares for me, his willingness to do yoga on Sunday mornings, and letting me leave my bathing suit and necklaces and toothbrush lying around his apartment.
