Lost in Translation

"The message sent is not always the message received."

— Virginia Satir, The New Peoplemaking

I've just returned from a week-long excursion in the San Juan Islands with my brother, my sister, and both of their spouses. It was the first time the five of us had ever done anything like it, and I'm still a little in awe that we pulled it off. My sister-in-law had wrist surgery just days before we left and came, cast and all, unable to do much of the physical work for the entire week, but still filled a vital role.

As I mentioned in last week's story, the idea for this trip came from childhood memories of Doreen and Mic (aka Mom and Dad) packing us up on the Dorey Mae, our boat, in the mid-70s, a prize my grandfather won in a poker game. Not knowing a thing about boating, Doreen and Mic took classes on navigation, boater etiquette, and nautical communication. It was mighty brave of them to take the family out for the equivalent of camping on the high seas. They also created lifelong memories and a love of the water for all of us.

I learned a lot about my siblings during the week. Mostly, we all have different memories of different things, even though we were all present. The tiny details, like the color of the carpet or which cove we anchored in back in 1974, I have no recollection of. I do, however, remember the rough seas where Mic turned completely white with fear of capsizing with his entire family aboard, and the serene beauty of a calm bay when the sun was setting.

As a kid, I was the daydreamer of the family, usually off in my own world, allergic to conflict of any kind. I could always find a reason to be somewhere else when things got tense. This week, I didn't have that option. I was assistant deckhand to my brother-in-law, which meant docking, dropping anchor, and steering were suddenly my job too, not something I could duck out of and let someone else handle.

This boat isn't the Dorey Mae. She's 60 feet and takes real skill to run, and my brother carried the responsibility of her, and of all five of us, the whole week. I was impressed. My brother-in-law was in charge of technology, my sister-in-law spent the week directing traffic one-handed from a deck chair, and my sister whipped up delicious treats to keep us all nourished. We developed a sort of team without being appointed positions.

Our second attempt at anchoring in Echo Bay is where things went a little sideways. I was relaying signals between my brother-in-law at the anchor line and my brother up on the bridge, and somewhere in that short distance, my signals stopped meaning what I meant them to mean. Confused enough by what he was hearing, my brother came down off the bridge to see what the holdup was. He said something like, if you're not sure, just say so. My brother-in-law shot back something like, this isn't exactly my day job, ease up. Fair enough. I hadn't been nearly as clear as I thought I was being.

Thankfully, those moments passed quickly, and feathers were smoothed over without major incident.

Me as the temporary Skipper wearing Mic’s captain hat from 1974

When things get lost in translation, we think we're communicating one thing but the other person is hearing something completely different.

My brother couldn't tell if I was telling him to pull the boat forward or telling my brother-in-law to keep letting out chain. Two entirely different instructions, and neither of them could tell which one I meant. Once the dust had settled, we set up a better system so it wouldn't happen again, and just like that, the process got easier.

Our biggest relationship struggles, the romantic ones, the family ones, the ones with people we've known for decades or just met last month, come down to that same gap: what we meant to say and what actually got heard are often two different things. During our trip, ours got easier the moment we slowed down enough to check. I wonder how many other messages are still out there, sent with good intention, never quite received the way they were meant.

Love and Light,