Wanna See Crazy?

Most women want a little reassurance. I’ve spent a lifetime discovering this. And I’ve spent an equal lifetime occasionally ignoring it, usually to my own regret.

It happened again last Thursday. We were at a neighborhood block party, which is always a mix of good food, bad guitar playing, and the kind of small talk that makes you long for your recliner at home. I’d just stepped away from the punch bowl when I spotted my wife across the yard.

She is one of those women who radiates calm, until she doesn’t. “Oh, you wanna see crazy?” she asked, like it was a casual invitation.

Oops! She must have heard me telling Joe that sometimes I’m not sure if it is me or her, “But sometimes she’s a little crazy from minute to minute.”

Now, in my younger days, I might have leaned in. Curiosity is a dangerous thing, especially when it comes wrapped in the word “crazy,” but by now, experience had taught me better.

Most women want a little reassurance, so I smiled, because smiling is safer than explaining anything. “Nope,” I said. “Not today.”

That, apparently, was the correct answer. My wife’s expression softened.

She patted my arm, gently, but with that unmistakable “you just survived a minefield” acknowledgment, and walked off to talk to someone else. Crisis avoided.

It’s funny, the things you learn over the years. When I was younger, I thought women wanted to be impressed.

It turns out, most women want to know you can handle yourself, and them, without losing your mind, or theirs.

Later, I ran into my wife again at the snack table. She was juggling a plate of chips, a soda, and a chocolate éclair. I offered to hold one of her items. She raised an eyebrow and gave me a little smirk.

“You think I’m crazy?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“Smart man,” she replied.

And then she handed me the éclair, which, as it turns out, is a very clever way to test a man’s composure. Eating an éclair gracefully while standing awkwardly in a backyard full of neighbors is a skill I did not know I had, but I managed it, because sometimes reassurance isn’t verbal–it’s being steady and not losing your balance when life hands you a chocolate pastery.

By the end of the evening, I was sitting on the curb with my plate of leftovers, watching the neighborhood kids run through the sprinklers. Someone kicked a soccer ball into my lap.

A man from two houses over muttered something about chaotic energy. I just smiled and handed the ball back, because in life, sometimes the best way to survive crazy is to treat it politely and let it move along.

I realized then that reassurance isn’t about grand gestures or poetic speeches. It’s small things, like holding a plate, or eating an éclair without making a mess, admitting, “I don’t wanna see crazy today.”

It’s noticing the little storms without stepping into them unnecessarily, and letting people know you see them, but you don’t have to be part of every tempest.