How Are You? (It doesn’t matter).
How I sobered up my wife, divorced, and learned that my mission doesn’t give a crap about my feelings.
Once upon a time, a woman I’d been dating for over a year asked me, “How are you?”
She was not asking me in the perfunctory grocery store cashier way, but in a legitimate “I want to begin a conversation with you,” way.
It seems like a reasonable request.
I’m aware that social conventions in the WEIRD (Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic) countries dictate that there’s nothing morally wrong with a woman who takes a romantic interest in me asking me in a friendly sort of way, “How are you?”
Right?
And much of the time, I’d say something positive and upbeat like, “I’m pretty happy! How are you?”
The problem is that when I’m working on something really frickin’ hard, I just don’t care how I am.
One of the things that my faculty job calls upon me to do is travel to faraway cities and give talks about my research to hundreds of people at a time.
I’m very good at it.
If you’re into that sort of thing, here’s an example of a talk on infrastructure and extreme heat:
