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So this "ask me five questions"/"I ask you five questions" thing is going around again.
Questions are matters of tremendous fraughtness.
The thing is, they are always matters of territorial negotiation: the person asking is stepping into the territory of the askee to solicit something from deeper into that territory. Because of how fundamental my territorial sense is to how I function, this is a matter that requires a great deal of sniffing at pissed-on rocks before embarking on it.
For whatever reason, I am rendered very uncomfortable by questions that aren't answered. I think partly it was in my upbringing that a failure to answer a question is rude. Certainly that's a certain chunk of my reactions to the thing.
I think a big chunk of it is, though, this sense of territory, this sitting on the border waiting for a response, waiting to find out whether or not passage is permitted. If I ask and get no answer, I'm cast into a state of doubt: have I transgressed? Is the boundary not where I thought it was? Was I heard at all? If I don't answer, I have this sense of boundary-prodding that goes unresolved, this feeling that there's some sort of intrusion. I can pretend it isn't there (ignoring the question) in the hope that the invader will withdraw, or I can make it clear whether or not they are permitted to cross that boundary. I much prefer the latter.
If I am unable for whatever reason to answer the question, I wind up frustrated, unable to define the terms of my boundary. This is part of why I tend to snap at exceedingly general questions; they don't have enough of a handle on them for me to answer them effectively or, often, figure out what sort of answer will resolve the question -- and hence the boundary situation -- at all. Badly put questions tend to bring out my literalistic tendencies in full force -- I realised recently that an entirely optional questionnaire (which has no boundary issues much at all) was pushing these buttons, and doing so in a way that came out very hostile. I wound up writing to the person who posed the questions asking if I could have better ones.
One of the things I tend to do when I'm helping someone with a problem is say something to the effect of, "Please feel free to ask questions about these things", often with a chunk of information that makes it easier to generate questions that I would consider sound (enough information to work with and avoid horrible overgeneralities, generally). One of the major reasons behind this is to grant permission to cross the boundary, so I don't tense up at the fact that the boundary has been crossed. "This person has been granted permission to enter into the state of asking me about this."
Questions are also a sort of marker of territorial intimacy for me. Because I perceive a certain amount of pressure to answer questions under all circumstances, my intimacy boundaries are processed through the type and amount of information I give in response to questions. Because my basic feeling is that it is the obligation of the questioner to not be overly invasive in asking questions, I tend to respond to questions I feel do not meet that level of courtesy with minimalistic, short, and somewhat curt answers. (To alt.poly folks: yup, this would be indirect communication. :P )
More indirect communication notes: If I am feeling capable of answering questions on something at a particular point, I am likely to put out enough information that most questions are irrelevant. Part of this is an attempt to reduce the possibility of questions that will annoy me, but part of it is so that there will be interesting questions. It is a touch on the ironic side that my thought-systems really need a goodly amount of outside interactions to function, which includes the receipt of questions, given how touchy I am about questions in general.
So we get to the interview thing.
This is ridiculously fraught.
First of all, just the fact that it's dealing with questions is a bit freaky. Then there's the fact that there is obligation to answer (which I take as an obligation to answer informatively) and at least some construed obligation to ask more questions. The one precludes the sort of short answers I would give to a question I perceive as out of line; the latter puts me in a position of obligation to a behaviour I find potentially invasive. And it's granting some sort of blanket permission to ask, without context either on what is being asked about or who has it, which basically has the same psychological feel as dropping all my boundaries and shields and inviting anyone in who might fancy dropping by.
And the funny thing is that I would like people to ask me about things they're curious about, at some levels, or give me the sort of questions that will build me more and better answers. But that sort of wide-open defenseless state, that throwing open the throat, is beyond my tolerance.
So I wind up not asking people to ask me questions, and then thinking that I really ought to write some sort of explanation of why it's complicated. And now I've done that.
That being written at last, I'm going to go see if ritual/making kala/pills will make me stop feeling panicky and possibly even induce a cessation of twitching. (This is unrelated to the above entry entirely.)
Questions are matters of tremendous fraughtness.
The thing is, they are always matters of territorial negotiation: the person asking is stepping into the territory of the askee to solicit something from deeper into that territory. Because of how fundamental my territorial sense is to how I function, this is a matter that requires a great deal of sniffing at pissed-on rocks before embarking on it.
For whatever reason, I am rendered very uncomfortable by questions that aren't answered. I think partly it was in my upbringing that a failure to answer a question is rude. Certainly that's a certain chunk of my reactions to the thing.
I think a big chunk of it is, though, this sense of territory, this sitting on the border waiting for a response, waiting to find out whether or not passage is permitted. If I ask and get no answer, I'm cast into a state of doubt: have I transgressed? Is the boundary not where I thought it was? Was I heard at all? If I don't answer, I have this sense of boundary-prodding that goes unresolved, this feeling that there's some sort of intrusion. I can pretend it isn't there (ignoring the question) in the hope that the invader will withdraw, or I can make it clear whether or not they are permitted to cross that boundary. I much prefer the latter.
If I am unable for whatever reason to answer the question, I wind up frustrated, unable to define the terms of my boundary. This is part of why I tend to snap at exceedingly general questions; they don't have enough of a handle on them for me to answer them effectively or, often, figure out what sort of answer will resolve the question -- and hence the boundary situation -- at all. Badly put questions tend to bring out my literalistic tendencies in full force -- I realised recently that an entirely optional questionnaire (which has no boundary issues much at all) was pushing these buttons, and doing so in a way that came out very hostile. I wound up writing to the person who posed the questions asking if I could have better ones.
One of the things I tend to do when I'm helping someone with a problem is say something to the effect of, "Please feel free to ask questions about these things", often with a chunk of information that makes it easier to generate questions that I would consider sound (enough information to work with and avoid horrible overgeneralities, generally). One of the major reasons behind this is to grant permission to cross the boundary, so I don't tense up at the fact that the boundary has been crossed. "This person has been granted permission to enter into the state of asking me about this."
Questions are also a sort of marker of territorial intimacy for me. Because I perceive a certain amount of pressure to answer questions under all circumstances, my intimacy boundaries are processed through the type and amount of information I give in response to questions. Because my basic feeling is that it is the obligation of the questioner to not be overly invasive in asking questions, I tend to respond to questions I feel do not meet that level of courtesy with minimalistic, short, and somewhat curt answers. (To alt.poly folks: yup, this would be indirect communication. :P )
More indirect communication notes: If I am feeling capable of answering questions on something at a particular point, I am likely to put out enough information that most questions are irrelevant. Part of this is an attempt to reduce the possibility of questions that will annoy me, but part of it is so that there will be interesting questions. It is a touch on the ironic side that my thought-systems really need a goodly amount of outside interactions to function, which includes the receipt of questions, given how touchy I am about questions in general.
So we get to the interview thing.
This is ridiculously fraught.
First of all, just the fact that it's dealing with questions is a bit freaky. Then there's the fact that there is obligation to answer (which I take as an obligation to answer informatively) and at least some construed obligation to ask more questions. The one precludes the sort of short answers I would give to a question I perceive as out of line; the latter puts me in a position of obligation to a behaviour I find potentially invasive. And it's granting some sort of blanket permission to ask, without context either on what is being asked about or who has it, which basically has the same psychological feel as dropping all my boundaries and shields and inviting anyone in who might fancy dropping by.
And the funny thing is that I would like people to ask me about things they're curious about, at some levels, or give me the sort of questions that will build me more and better answers. But that sort of wide-open defenseless state, that throwing open the throat, is beyond my tolerance.
So I wind up not asking people to ask me questions, and then thinking that I really ought to write some sort of explanation of why it's complicated. And now I've done that.
That being written at last, I'm going to go see if ritual/making kala/pills will make me stop feeling panicky and possibly even induce a cessation of twitching. (This is unrelated to the above entry entirely.)
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(I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy
I see by your outfit that you're a cowboy too
We see by our outfits that we are both cowboys
If you get an outfit you can be a cowboy too!)
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