The Invisible Bridges Between Us

On the stories we tell ourselves about other people.

When I enter a room, I notice the invisible connections between people.

The tensions. The subtle reactions. The things left unsaid.

It’s as if I’m instinctively mapping the landscape of human relationships.

I sometimes think of myself as a relationship engineer.

I observe what connects people, what separates them, and where a bridge might be needed.

And then I build bridges.

Every fucking day.

At work, I often find myself in conversations with managers who are frustrated with someone on their team.

Someone isn’t delivering. Someone reacted badly. Someone has disappointed them.

And before long, a judgment has been made.

They’re not committed.

They’re being difficult.

They should have known better.

But how do we actually know?

We don’t.

We observe behavior and interpret it through our own experiences, expectations, and emotions.

Sometimes our assumptions are based on facts, careful observations, or years of experience with people. Sometimes they’re little more than guesses.

But even a reasonable assumption is still an assumption.

Unless we actually speak to someone and ask, we rarely know why they behaved the way they did.

And even then, we may not fully understand.

That’s where I like to start.

Not by telling someone they’re wrong. Not by defending the person they’re upset with.

But by asking questions.

What else could explain their behavior?

What might they be worried about?

Could they have experienced the same situation differently?

What are we missing?

I have seen how quickly a conversation can change when someone begins to consider another perspective.

The frustration softens. Curiosity replaces judgment. Suddenly, there’s room for a more constructive conversation.

Not because the problem has disappeared.

But because we’re no longer looking at it from only one side.

People sometimes tell me, “You’re always so diplomatic.”

Perhaps.

But to me, diplomacy isn’t about avoiding conflict or keeping everyone happy.

It’s about recognizing that my perspective isn’t the only possible one.

That two people can experience the same situation and come away with completely different interpretations.

And that understanding someone doesn’t mean agreeing with them.

Of course, I don’t always get this right myself.

I get frustrated. I make assumptions. I react emotionally.

And sometimes, looking back, I realize that my reaction said as much about my own expectations, insecurities, or state of mind as it did about the other person’s behavior.

That’s not always comfortable to admit.

But it’s strangely liberating.

Because it reminds me that I have a choice.

I can hold on to my interpretation and defend it.

Or I can get curious.

Curious about what I might have missed. About what the other person may have experienced. About whether there’s another way to look at what happened.

This isn’t about excusing poor behavior.

People are still responsible for their actions. And sometimes a boundary is more important than a bridge.

But I believe we would have fewer unnecessary conflicts if we became a little less certain of our own interpretations.

Because so much of what separates us isn’t necessarily what happened.

It’s the story we tell ourselves about what happened.

So the next time someone upsets you, before deciding what their behavior means, ask yourself:

What if there’s another side to this story?

You may still disagree.

You may still be right.

But you might respond differently.

And sometimes, that’s where a bridge begins.