Alright, so this whole ‘why are guys stupid’ thing. It’s a real head-scratcher, isn’t it? You hear people toss it around, sometimes you even find yourself thinking it, especially after you’ve just witnessed something… well, something that makes you want to bang your head against the nearest wall. Gently, of course.
I actually went through a period, a pretty intense one, where I sort of made it my unofficial project to observe this phenomenon up close. It wasn’t like I put on a lab coat and started taking notes with a clipboard, nothing like that. It was more like I was neck-deep in a situation, and I figured, “Okay, if I’m going to be stuck in this recurring loop of ‘what were they thinking?!’, I might as well try to see if there’s a pattern, some kind of logic, or maybe just accept it’s pure chaos.” This became my little “practice,” my attempt to navigate the madness.
So, what happened? Well, I was involved in this community project. We were trying to organize a local event, something fun for everyone. Sounds simple, right? Oh, you’d think. We had a mixed group, but let me tell you, the planning meetings with some of the guys were an experience. It wasn’t about general intelligence, not at all. It was about… well, let’s call it a peculiar brand of decision-making.
My first step in this “practice” was to be super clear. I mean, painstakingly clear. We’d agree on a plan, A-B-C. I’d write it down, send emails, even make little diagrams. Next meeting? It was like we were starting from scratch. Or worse, someone would come in with a completely new, half-baked idea that ignored everything we’d just spent hours discussing. “Yeah, but what if we did this instead?” usually followed by something that was obviously unworkable or would set us back weeks.
So, I adapted. My “practice” evolved. I thought, “Okay, maybe the group setting is too much. Too many distractions.” So, I started trying to have one-on-one conversations. More direct, more personal. I’d try to walk them through the logic, point out the potential pitfalls of their latest brainwave. Sometimes, I’d get a nod, an “Oh yeah, I see.” And then, boom, they’d go off and do the exact opposite. Or they’d try to “improve” a perfectly good, simple part of the plan and make it ten times more complicated, and then it would, of course, break.
- We had one guy, let’s call him Dave. Nice enough fellow. But if you told Dave the stove was hot, he wouldn’t just take your word for it. He’d have to touch it. Then, next week, he’d see another stove, and you’d have to go through the whole “Dave, it’s hot” conversation again.
- Then there was Mark, who was convinced he could do everything himself, better and faster. He’d take on three people’s worth of tasks, assure us it was “all under control,” and then, crickets. Total radio silence until the day before the deadline, when it would emerge that, surprise, it wasn’t done. And it was somehow everyone else’s fault for not “reminding him” enough, even though we had a shared calendar, task lists, carrier pigeons practically.
I spent a lot of time just trying to keep things from completely derailing. My “practice” became less about understanding the “why” and more about damage control. I learned to anticipate the curveballs. I started building in buffer time for the inevitable “oops” moments. I got really good at smiling politely while internally screaming.
So, did I get to the bottom of it? Did I discover the grand unified theory of why guys sometimes do things that seem, let’s be charitable, counterproductive? Nope. Not a chance. I didn’t walk away with a neat answer. What I did realize is that sometimes, you just can’t make sense of it. Maybe it’s communication styles, maybe it’s ego, maybe it’s just how some people are wired. Or maybe they’re not listening because they’re too busy thinking about what they’re going to say next.
At the end of the day, my “practice” taught me more about myself, actually. It taught me about patience – or my lack thereof, initially. It taught me when to push, when to step back, and when to just let things play out and have a good story to tell later. And honestly, sometimes just accepting that you won’t understand is its own kind of peace. The project? It happened, eventually. More chaotic and stressful than it needed to be, but it happened. And I definitely had some stories.
