kinds of knowing

At some point I started to overintellectualise relationships. I thought a lot about listening. I thought a lot about conveying myself clearly. It seemed to me that truly knowing a person is truly knowing their mind. It made me ask deep questions and show a lot of care. But I’m finding that there is a hidden poverty in viewing relationships as so cerebral.

I’ve got some really awesome cousins - well I do, but I’m really talking about my second cousins. They’re five and eight years younger than me and and a certified blast. I don’t get to see them much more frequently than once a year but when we do it’s breakfast-to-bedtime shenanigans. Card games, swimming, goofing around.

With them it’s not about understanding their views on philosophy, religion, and politics. It’s not even so much about their hobbies and beloved factoids - of course we do talk about them. It’s really about time together.

I’ve been playing around with a fancy phrase: phenomenological intimacy. I’ve gotten to know what it’s like to be around them, what it’s like to share a smile or little giggle, what it’s like to run and swim and catch with them.

It has a different quality to it and I think part of why I dismissed it is because its harder to quantify that cerebral knowledge of a person. It’s easy to prove your intimacy with another person when you recall a careful fact about them, the catalogue of their interests, or your concern for their struggles. But with phenomenological intimacy it’s less about recalling every fun memory with them but more about a deeper almost subconscious familiarity.

Sometimes I still wish I knew more about my cousins minds - what makes them tick - but I’ve become more content with the kind of friendship we have.

Caleb Mohamed

kinds of knowing

last 5 blogs