Dear Birdy,

I had a friend who was also a crew lead on a research project I was directing, and she just didn’t do her job. She failed to collect the samples she was tasked to collect, and it really hurt my research. It has impacted our relationship at work, and essentially ended our friendship, but we’ve never talked about it. It obviously still bothers me. Since we’re in the same field, at the same university, it is almost certain we will have to keep working together. Do I bring it up? Do I drop it? Where do I go from here?

Sincerely,
Burned

Dear Burned,

While I generally tend to believe that these kinds of offenses are best addressed quickly, clearly, and kindly, it sounds like some time has passed—perhaps even enough for resentment to take root.

At the Boston Aquarium, there was once a Giant Pacific Octopus called Truman. Like others in his family of mollusks, Truman has a raspy radula, a tongue-like appendage for eating, and a soft fold of tissue containing several glands called a mantle. Like others in his family of mollusks, he has no shell. Unlike many in his family of mollusks, though, Truman has a brain, and a complex nervous system, and what researchers consider highly evolved intelligence. I am by no means suggesting snails and clams lack intelligence, only that perhaps we don’t understand their wisdom in the same way as the octopus’s yet, because it bears fewer resemblances to our own.

Truman was a sight to behold at that aquarium, and volunteers and visitors alike fawned over him, marveled as his ability to slink his boneless body through the smallest openings, opened their mouths in awe when he caught their eye and blinked, slowly, as if to say, I see you there.

Research has shown that octopuses have an ability to recognize and distinguish faces. This was an unfortunate truth for one volunteer at the Boston Aquarium. For some reason, Truman was not her fan. Perhaps she mistakenly mishandled him once, or failed to bring him his preferred snack. (Perhaps she failed to collect the research samples he had requested?) I’m not sure where the discontent stemmed from. What I do know, though, is that each time that particular volunteer approached Truman’s tank, he squirted a jet of water at her. Aimed it right at her face. Eventually, the volunteer left her post at the Aquarium. Years later, she visited as a guest, and guess what? Truman saw her, aimed his water jets, and sprayed her right in the face. An octopus never forgets, I suppose.

That same research study indicated that it wasn’t just the behavior of the Giant Pacific Octopus that changes when they interact with someone they recognize. Their breathing changes, their color too. It is a full-bodied response to the face they see in front of them. If the octopus has been treated kindly, there is an ease in their movements. If not, well, you heard about Truman.

I’m not suggesting you load up a super soaker and hose down this colleague of yours who did you wrong. But if you don’t address it, if working with her sets off an autonomic response that tightens your chest, changes your breathing patterns, boils your blood, well, you might one day react like our friend Truman, and humans for some reason lack the charm of the octopus when metaphorically spitting in another’s face. You’re going to have to find your own path through the muck of resentment so it doesn’t result in acting out in a way that is not true to who you are. It can be as simple as sharing with her that her lack of follow through was hurtful, and harmful to your research. That you’re working on forgiveness, and speaking it out loud is a step on the path. Or maybe you don’t need to speak it out loud. Maybe you write it down and set your words on fire. Maybe you drown the ashes in the sea.

Love,
Birdy