Gobbledygook

John had read up on the issues. He knew what the state questions were concerning, though the subject matter usually felt like a tick on a fly on a Bernese Mountain dog. The propositions make their way to the ballot, supposedly, because existent laws-- or the absence of such laws-- are creating societal wrinkles. The proposals identify places where people or systems or processes keep tripping up. Something somewhere isn’t working as well as it should (or could) so somebody (or more likely a collection of somebodies) formulates a decision that they believe (or hope) will smooth the surface. Hence, propositions regarding property taxes for second homes plus businesses that own commercial property or adjustments to the allocations of a 0.5-cent sales tax based upon the income tax for individuals making more than $200,000, show up on a voting ballot. 

Among all sorts of other convoluted things.

Included as a “by the way” after the big-name runners-for-office, these questions stamped with multi-digit identification numbers live or die at the mercy of the public’s “yay” or “nay.”  

Although it made his head hurt, John knew staying apprised was his civic duty. So, he did his homework then showed up to cast his lot. And as he walked back to his car, he second-guessed himself.

“Did I vote for what I meant?” 

Perhaps the nook or cranny that shows up as SQ 888-44-31 is a thorny issue necessitating it be wrapped inside a paragraph with fourteen adverbial clauses in hopes of covering all the bases it might touch. Perhaps verbosity is an oath lawmakers take before being allowed to author proposals that turn into bills that doggedly swim their way against the current into laws. Perhaps the formality of language is a reflection of hard-earned intellect. Perhaps the “powers that be” like for voters to be a bit confused.

A smidge of cloak and dagger can birth a lot of wiggle room.

Mostly, John thought as he drove away from his citizen obligation toward the rest of his day, “Why does it have to be so hard?”

When gobbles and gook are presented with perplexity, decision-making slows to a sloth’s crawl. Murky waters grow grueling and tough to continually plow through, especially when ambiguity masks the exits and the turn lanes. It gets painful and exhausting. 

Clarity, on the other hand, is an accelerant. It ensures greater accuracy. It refines. It separates. When a thing is about what it’s really about, it’s easier to choose where to stand.

In the super scheme of things, it probably will not matter much if John’s “yes” should have been (based on his stance on an issue) a “no.” The odds that he will feel the ramifications of either a pass or fail in his daily life are slim. 

But the gobbledygook is a problem.

It shouldn’t be so difficult to do an important thing.

And yet it is sometimes. Because we make it that way. Even when we’re not aware we do. Often, far beyond the cardboard voting cubicles where we pose biting our bottom lip while trying to decipher if we’re in or if we’re out, we, too (worse or equal to the lawyers,) make things harder than they need to be. We over-fluff. We over-demonstrate. We extrapolate extremely. We hem; we haw; we hedge. We remember back and imagine forward, pushing and pulling until the question at hand becomes dysmorphic. We go on and on and on and on until we don’t know what we think. 

When the heart of the matter gets buried alive, good decisions are hard to find.

P.S. Doubletalk: Clear Communication is the Secret to Success