While in town today, we were driving up the hill toward the hospital and took a side street to go pick up Grace and Silas. They have been going every so often to a nursery school when we run our weekly errands. As we came over the hill, we saw a Caterpillar backhoe loader and a large pile of dirt that is stretched across the whole road. As we get closer, we realized that between the time that we had dropped the kids off (9 am) and the time that we were now returning to pick them up (11 am), a city work crew had dug a 3' deep trench across the road in order to replace a water main. There was no way that we were going to be able to pass.
There was no sign to say that work was taking place, that there was a detour, or that the road was now completely impassible. There was no problem parking in the middle of the road. I wasn't going to be in anyone's way . . . because there was no way.
So I got out of the car, exchanged greetings with the three workers, then I said, "We are trying to pass by in order pick up our kids from nursery school. Is there another way to get around?"
The supervisor of the crew looked at me with a somewhat startled look. "You want to get by? (His facial expression betrayed that this was the first time that he had thought about the problem of an impassible road.) Well, if you wait, we will be filling the hole in soon and then you can pass." He made this last comment as though he was saying, "It's your problem, not mine."
I playfully jested, "I wanted to pick up my kids today, not tomorrow." The driver of the backhoe burst out laughing. The supervisor joined him. The smirk on his face let me knew that he realized I was teasing. I thanked them and went back to the car.
Jana went by foot to get the kids while I stayed with the car. As I leaned against the front end, waiting for their return, I realized that I had a visible illustration of a clash of cultural values.
Coming from a preventative culture, I had been accustomed to expect that road work would be marked some distance before it is approached, that there would be a detour route to follow, or that the road would simply be marked as closed. Road workers should be identified by their bright orange apparel. Someone should have thought about the solution before the problem arose.
Yet, things are different here. Many of these same expectations are not present, but in their place, another set of expectations lie. A greater level of patience is expected when things don't go as planned. Solutions to problems are to be considered when the problem arises, not much before.
It feels like life here is less predictable, less consistent, less dependable. You feel less in control, like you have less choices. You feel like you have to make decisions based on less information than you would want.
So in a world like that, why plan to prevent things that will probably never happen? If the array of preventatives become more complicated than the problem they are designed to prevent, then much of the prevention seems to be a waste of time.
(Isn't that the reason that you will readily set aside the owner's manual for some new electronic gadget and try to figure it out yourself, instead of reading it from cover to cover. Admittedly, it is easier to wait until a problem arises, instead of investing all of the time in trying to bypass it.)
You can easily spend eight hours planning for an event here that, because a turn of events, will never happen. I have. But, over time, you learn to build in room for adjustment, make room for planning on-the-go. You learn to not overplan.
So, as I stood leaning against our car, looking at the deepening trench, I was reminded of just one more way my two worlds are different.
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