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One enchanted afternoon, I met my wife while I was shopping in a rare bookstore where she worked. As I walked past bookshelves filled with first editions, she barely caught my eye from where she was sitting behind a desk at the other end of the room.
“Yes!” a voice screamed inside my head. “This woman is for you!”
At that moment I didn’t know if she was married (she wasn’t). I didn’t know if she had a sense of humor (she did). I didn’t even know what she really looked like (I had caught only a brief glimpse). In short, I had no idea who this woman was. I only knew that I believed in love at first sight. I fell in love with the sizzle. I knew very little about the steak.
We often make major life decisions based on scant information. To do this we use symbolism, a valuable human shortcut. This process of acting on the sizzle is unavoidable, usually appropriate, and often crucial to our wellbeing. Many, if not most, of our actions are based upon symbols. That’s why the sizzle, and not the cow, sells the steak. The sizzle sounds and smells like something good to eat. In contrast, the cow evokes an image of milk and manure. (Of course, for non-meat eaters, even the sizzle of the steak may have no allure.)
I still remember watching the first Nixon-Kennedy debate on television. I was sure that JFK had won. So were most people who viewed the debate on TV. Nixon sported a five o’clock shadow and looked pale. But most people who listened to the debate on the radio thought it was even. Appearance was the sizzle, not the words.
Suppose you are lost in a foreign city and three complete strangers walk toward you. The first is a man with a three-day growth of beard. The second is a young woman pushing a baby in a stroller. The third is wearing a uniform. Which one will you approach to ask for help?
Unavoidably, your answer will depend upon your own personal symbolism. I would try either the young woman (“safe”) or the uniform (“authoritative”). I would avoid the scruffy man (“dangerous”).
I do not claim that I would make the best decision, but my choice, or yours, in any similar situation will be based entirely upon our respective personal symbolism, and not upon complete information. The unkempt man could be friendly and knowledgeable. The uniformed person might be ignorant or treacherous. The young woman could be reluctant to talk with a stranger. But, right or wrong, we act on the assumption that our symbols accurately represent the real thing.
Back at the rare bookstore, did I fall in love with my future wife because she reminded me of my mother? Because of the way she tilted her head? Because she seemed so involved in what she was doing? Yes to all of these symbols. I used my imagination to flesh her out from the limited information I had observed. I sensed that I “knew” her even though, of course, I did not.
Be aware of your personal symbolism.
Think of someone you know fairly well—your spouse, parent, or a friend. Would his or her reaction to various symbols be exactly the same as yours? Of course not. Each of us is different, yet we often assume that our personal symbolism is universal.
I believe in love at first sight. How could you possibly not?
How can anyone associate the word “computer” with “fear and loathing,” when it says to me “productivity and fun”?
When you buy a car, are you purchasing reliable transportation, or the design or hood ornament?
Do you only date men who are more than six feet tall?
Have you voted the straight Democratic (or Republican) ticket for your entire life? If your symbol of “Republican” or “Democrat” goes back to the days of Dwight D. Eisenhower and Adlai Stevenson, or even John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, take another look. Your symbolism might be out of date.
Symbols are a useful shortcut. They can tell you who is worth pursuing across a crowded room. They can suggest which food you might enjoy. But remember to remain consciously aware of your symbols and to see through or beyond them.
In building the life of your dreams you may marry a complex, surprising human being, who is more than just a gorgeous body, a Catholic, or a CPA. The stuff of your life is more than just an enticing sizzle or advertising promise. The sizzle is not the steak. But it is the sizzle, which we must recognize for what it is.
Alan
When we were kids, my brother and I had the mother of all pillow fights. It ended with a shriek of glee when David swatted me squarely on the top of my head. His pillow burst, liberating thousands of feathers. For weeks afterward gypsy bits of white fluff roamed through our house, rising from dresser drawers, drifting out of folded clothes, and even, to my surprise, peeking out from the corner of a small red carton of cloves in the kitchen pantry.
But each time I tried to trap one of these feathers with my hand it fluffed away. At first I was amused, but soon I became frustrated. In those days I lived by the rule, “go for it,” which simply didn’t work in this case.
You have to wait for the fish to bite, and I quickly learned that to catch a feather I had to be patient, reach out, and simply wait for it to land, or not, on my outstretched palm.
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The softest things in the world overcome the hardest things in the world. Non-being penetrates that in which there is no space. Through this I know the advantage of taking no action.
—Lao-Tzu, The Way of Lao-Tzu
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Recently my business partner, Aaron, cornered me in my office. “Alan, I have a problem. My son, your godson, Byron, and I had an argument about the rules in our house, and he won’t talk to me.”
Aaron’s quarrel was about Byron and his girlfriend sleeping in Byron’s bedroom overnight, with Aaron’s seven-year-old stepdaughter in the house.
“Alan, I don’t want to lose my son. But I won’t change the rules in my own house. What can I do?”
I recalled the day many years before when my own teenage son had decided to live with his mother, rather than accept one of my household rules. Eventually I had apologized, not so much for the rule but for my harsh way of imposing it, and we reconciled. In my mind I saw a feather gradually floating into my hand.
“Don’t chase him,” I said to Aaron.
“Don’t chase him?”
“Just extend your hand to him and wait for him to respond.”
“I have been waiting. For a week. And it hurts.”
“Waiting can be the hardest thing in the world, especially for people like you and me who are used to going after what we want. Children have to stake out their own territory.”
Aaron shook his head, looking sad. “I don’t like it, but you may be right.”
For several weeks, Aaron left welcoming messages on Byron’s telephone answering machine and waited. Byron finally returned his calls, and, after more than a month, father and son agreed to share dinner at a Chinese restaurant. They opened up a dialogue that continued intermittently over the next few months.
Then last Friday, Aaron raced into my office, beaming, “The feather has landed!” Aaron paused for dramatic effect.
“Yes?”
“Tonight he’s coming to the house for dinner, for the first time since Christmas!”
I hadn’t seen Aaron grin so broadly since he announced his engagement to his wife several years before (but that’s a feather off a different bird).
To catch a feather you have to wait. You can’t speed up the natural process of floating, and the very attempt will push away the object of your desire. 
You can only be available, as you might be to a newborn infant. You can open your heart and turn your palm upward toward the sky. You can wait and watch with yearning and generosity.
When the feather alights you can give thanks for a precious gift.
And you might also realize that, from time to time, you are the feather yourself.
– Alan
