My 10 May Be Your 4

We are awash in numbers. Metrics are supposed to make it possible to communicate more clearly with one another, to make a subjective experience into an objective reality that can be compared, contrasted, assessed.

Much of the time metrics work. Scales and measures are essential to assessing distance, temperature, time elapsed. Other times numbers are unreliable and open to interpretation, such as certain Olympic scores that act as cover for personal preference.

A couple of months ago, I heard a present-day explorer discuss an afternoon spent sailing with his wife. They wanted to spend time together in the beautiful waters near where she grew up. When the weather forecast shifted from bright skies and calm sea to stormy changeable, she asked him on a scale of 1 to 10 how bad the storm was likely to be.

Cheerfully, he declared it would be about a 4. They set off for a glorious afternoon, just the two of them with a basket of fruit,wine and cheese, enjoying one another’s company, the sun, the waves, the fresh air.

Minutes later, gale force winds buffeted them, towering waves threatened to sink their small craft. Shouting instructions, they secured what they had to, prepared to get back to land. In the midst of the fury, her face blanched white, rigid with tension, she raged at him, hurling accusations and resurrecting old arguments, sobbing over what would become of their small children if they died.

We’ll be fine, he assured her, maneuvering the craft. Death was a real possibility, he admitted to us, going on to add that death is always a possibility on the sea, but you sail anyway, using your knowledge, wits, and art to manage through. He had sailed in far worse, far more desperate conditions. Over the years he’s spent exploring the world, he and his partners have ridden through typhoons in tiny boats, faced skyscraper high waves that pounded their boat and promised destruction and death.

He’d sailed through and survived epic storms that would rate a solid 10 from other explorers and hardy sailors. His wife was an athletic, competent sailor, loved the water, but had never faced such a storm, definitely not with cheerful acceptance, confidence, and unyielding gusto.

She fell to her knees and kissed the earth when they finally made it into port. They haven’t sailed together again — and she promises him that they never will. His 4 was her 10. Their rating of what was deathly danger versus exciting challenge was so different that neither could comprehend the other.

They each had their numbers, but on very different scales. If you’re creating your own metrics, be sure to define what exactly is calm? Specify stormy. How strong is a high wind? Quantify it to the best of your ability — and explain in words what it would be like and how it would feel. Then someone can assess the outing on their own personal scale and decide whether to go out on the waves or wait on the shore.