#Unsettled

One of the most powerful forces in human relationships is communication—specifically, how we give it and how we receive it.

I’ve come to believe there is a specific frequency upon which women communicate. It’s a silent, high-level tactical coordination that exists entirely beneath the surface. I call it The Assignment.

The Assignment isn’t something you’re told to do; it’s something you just know to do. It’s seeing the neighbor’s kid forgot their lunch and slipping an extra granola bar into their backpack without a word. It’s knowing exactly which friend needs a text at 10:00 PM because her toddler is sick. It is an invisible, delicate web of intuition, anticipation, and care.

And then… there are the times when the men in our lives are given a very clear, explicitly spoken assignment—and they somehow manage to miss the frequency entirely.

Take a recent, simple evening. My husband was heading out, and I had just one request: pick up some pesto. Specifically, the good stuff. The fresh kind from the refrigerated section that makes a chaotic weeknight dinner feel like a win.

He returned, triumphant, holding a jar.

Except it wasn’t the good stuff. It was the shelf-stable variety from aisle four that tastes mostly of salt and regret.

“They didn’t have the other one,” he said, with the breezy, unflappable confidence of a man who firmly believes “close enough” is a valid life philosophy. In his defense, he was coming home from a long day at baseball practice, he was starving, and he just wanted to get home.

In that moment, I realized something fundamental. If a woman had been sent for that pesto and found the shelf empty, she wouldn’t have just settled for the shelf-stable jar. She would have texted. She would have double-checked the display. She might have even hit a second store if she knew how much that specific dinner meant to the night.

He saw a gap, filled it with the nearest green object, and considered the box checked.

So, I did what any reasonable person would do: I ate the subpar pesto with a side of very quiet, very specific annoyance.

It wasn’t actually about the basil. It was about the lack of The Assignment mindset. It was the realization that for some people, the world is a simple checklist of tasks to cross off, while for others, we are managing the detail and the nuance.

Now, if I’m being completely transparent with myself, I am far from perfect here. I expect a high level of detail from those around me, often forgetting that not everyone’s brain is wired to operate on my exact frequency. And when I don’t get the response I’m looking for, I tend to over-communicate. I will beat a dead horse until it’s dust—not out of malice, but because I’m searching for that little nod of validation: I see you, I hear you, I get it.

We all process data on completely different wavelengths. My daughter and I both suffer from a highly advanced case of selective hearing—if something isn’t in our immediate orbit, we seamlessly tune it out. Men do it, too. (How many of us have watched a box sit by the front door for three weeks waiting to go into storage until we finally just move it ourselves?)

The truth is, none of us are mind readers. Poor communication—or over-communication—is the catalyst for petty arguments everywhere.

Thankfully, my husband and I have adapted over the years. If he’s at the store now and isn’t 100% sure, he’ll text me a photo of the shelf. (And if I don’t answer and he buys the wrong thing, well… that’s on me!)

Maybe it really is just a fundamental difference in how we’re wired. But the real unspoken assignment for all of us—regardless of gender—is simply staying open. Trying to listen. Trying to stay engaged, even when it’s easier to tune out.

It isn’t easy, and none of us get it right all the time. But if we can step onto the same frequency and give each other a little grace, so many of our everyday friction points just evaporate.

The pesto might have been bitter, but a little mutual effort? That’s always delicious.