Intuition

If you haven’t read my last post about Hair, you should.  But just in case you can’t be bothered, I’ll give you the even-shorter-than-a-blog-post version.  I went to a jazz club and this guy made me a feel a bit hinky from the moment I sat down at the bar.  I didn’t move though, despite my instinct to do so, because I didn’t want to be rude to him or trouble the bartender.  Eventually he ended up copping a feel all over my back.  Hinky.

After I recovered from feeling utterly violated, the incident got me to thinking about a story I heard a year or so ago from a woman I met at a film lecture.  A group of us had been talking about the 1987 film The Stepfather (very hinky) and the fact that the step-daughter saves the day by following her instincts, despite the nay-saying of everyone around her.  This woman then told us about how one evening she’d been out walking when she saw a man walking towards her; this guy immediately gave her a bad feeling.  She thought about crossing the street to avoid him, but then thought “that’d be rude” and stayed put.  The man attacked her.

What struck me is that I went through the exact same thought process at the bar two weeks ago.  The guy seemed off, but I didn’t want to be rude.  When I noticed that he was twitching, my super PC brain kicked in and reasoned that he had a condition of some sort; and of course it’s rude to avoid someone just because of a condition that makes them a little a different.  So I ignored the fact that the twitching was making me feel weird.  Then, just in case the “don’t be rude” thinking hadn’t kept me in my seat, the “I don’t want to be a bother” thinking kicked up.  I didn’t want the bartender to have to do—you know—her job, and move my tab to another table.  And what did I get for all my politeness and being self-policing?  I got to go home crying and feeling dirty.

This propensity to not trust one’s gut instincts seems to be something that women have a harder time with than men.  Most men that I know follow their instincts or at least aren’t so quick to tune them out entirely.  But in Western culture, in general, we don’t tend to value instinct or intuition because we don’t think of them as something based in an intellectual process, which is a mistake.  Just because reasoning isn’t part of the process it doesn’t make gut feelings necessarily unreliable.

The brain collects vast amounts of information from our experiences and determines the probability that a certain action will produce a certain outcome.  This process is necessarily subconscious though because you’d get nothing done in your life if you actually thought through all of this consciously.  What happens when you’re faced with a situation is that this huge databank of past experience is accessed and a conclusion is fed back to our conscious brain by way of emotion—the gut feeling.  So when someone says to me “the cheque is in the mail,” there’s a reason I feel immediate distrust and irritation.  Experience tells me that it’s probably not true and if I’m to take that customer at their word, it’s going to take some conscious thinking around the gut feeling I’m getting.

Now the downside of intuition is that it is based on past experience.  If the new situation that you’re facing isn’t exactly like the past situations, your intuitions might steer you wrong.  Past experiences aren’t always accurate predictors of the future, unfortunately.  That’s why it’s still a good idea to use your intellect here and there.

When I was talking to a male friend about the situation at the bar and the whole issue of not trusting my instincts, he said that he often felt like he trusts his instincts to avoid a situation, but then it seems to be for no reason because nothing untoward ever seems to happen.  I’d venture to say that nothing happens because he has removed himself from the situation before it could.  I’m pretty sure this is what happened to me a couple weeks after the incident with Hair.

I was sitting on the subway, absolutely minding my own business, and a woman reeking of urine stood in front of me and just started yelling at me.  I had in ear buds and never made eye contact with her when I sat down, but she chose me.  This is not surprising, as I seem to be a magnet for crazy.  I ignored her until we got to the next subway stop and then I got out of my seat and quickly made my way to the next subway car, hoping to shake her.  When I looked out the window of the car, I saw her then heading up the stairs, out of the subway station and thought to myself “see you didn’t need to get up at all.”  But then it occurred to me that perhaps the screamer had gotten off the train because I had removed myself from the situation—making her antics a whole lot less rewarding.  In fact, while I’m proud of myself for having moved when everyone on the train was busy pretending that nothing untoward was actually happening, I think I should have gotten up even sooner and just found another seat until I could switch cars.  I was sitting in front of this woman being subjected to the screaming for a good minute or so before I could change cars and who knows if she could have become violent in that time.

I’m one of those people who’s constantly being asked for directions, approached by mentally disturbed people and just generally accosted.  I’m thinking of having an ongoing segment of my blog devoted to these incidents.  Whatever happens, I’ll be doing my best to keep trusting my gut feelings.

If you’re interested in more information about instincts and intuition check out this article.  For a longer read you might also like the book How We Decide by Jonah Lehrer.

An Impromptu Post

Mostly ’cause last night was too unnerving not to write about.

Earlier this year I recorded a four-song demo–a mix of pop and jazz tunes–with the intent of shopping it around to try and score a gig.  Unfortunately the musician with whom I did that demo doesn’t speak to me anymore.  I started working with a new musician but things have stalled out pretty seriously since he lost the gig we thought we’d be doing this summer.  He now wants to put together yet another demo to shop around.  He also won’t do a gig unless there’s real money involved, which, as a total newbie to the scene, is not my main concern–I really just want some experience right now.  The long and short of this is that I thought it would be a good idea to network with some other musicians and a good way to do that is at jam sessions and open mics.

So last night, despite the smog, humidity and a general desire to remain parked on my couch, I got up at 9:45pm and headed out to The Rex for their Tuesday Night Jam.  We’ll just leave aside the fact that I felt like I’d stumbled into a private get together for Humber College jazz program graduates.  No one seemed to be a day over 21 and the two women they allowed to sing at all seemed to already be known to the band leader.  I never did figure out how one muscles their way into being one of the cool kids but that was, frankly, beside the point by the end of the evening.

When I arrived at the joint, I headed straight for the bar.  The place was relatively full and I didn’t want to take up a table as a single person.  I asked a fella at the bar if either of the two seats next to him were taken and took the one farthest away from him when he said no.  The house band was in the midst of a break so I took the time to write some stuff down in my journal.  As I was writing the guy who I’d asked about the seat–let’s call him Hair, ’cause his was all helter skelter–asked what I was writing.  I tried to blow him off by saying it was something for my therapist.  Usually when you admit that you’re seeing a therapist, people just back away slowly, but this seemed to encourage him.  Hair asked me if I do everything my therapist says, which I assume was a sad pick up line.  Finally, I abandoned the course of being courteous, said something non-committal and got really focused on what I was writing, refusing to make eye contact.  The band started to play then and I put my journal away and turned my back squarely to Hair.  I hoped that the fact that I wasn’t going to allow him to speak to me anymore should be a clear signal to back the hell off.

Au contraire, mon frere.

Around 11:45pm, I looked at my watch, figuring I would put in another 15 minutes of this and then go home.  I’d been pitched forward in my chair for about an hour now and leaned back in my chair…and was horrified to feel hands rubbing across my back and shoulders .  I was wearing a tube top which provided a lot of area for rubbing.  I spun around to see Hair sitting there with a big grin on his face.  The band had started up again so I didn’t hear what his explanation was and he didn’t hear me bellow at him that he had totally encroached on my space.  Which of course was a stupid thing to say anyway, but I was so fucking creeped out that I wasn’t thinking straight.  I should have just taken my shit and moved to another spot in the bar at that point.  I should have poured his drink in his lap.  I should have screamed at him in a way impossible to misconstrue that he was way out of line.  But instead I sat there thinking, “It’ll be fine,” not wanting to have to tell the bartender to move my tab to a table or another spot.  So I stupidly stayed in that seat and leaned back again.  And again, Hair took the opportunity to grab my arm and give me another caress.

At this point, the bartender, who had already given me an “Are you okay” look came over and actually asked if I was okay.  I asked her for the bill, tipped big and left feeling like I might puke.  And when I got on the train home I burst into tears.  I don’t even know why.  I just felt really gross and dirty.

The lesson:  next time, sit with my back to a wall.