Living with Logic: Systems Thinking in an Emotional World
A Different Operating System
I used to think something was wrong with me when I didn’t pick up on emotional cues. Like, everyone else seemed to just know what someone meant by a look or a pause. I didn’t. And that used to feel like failure.
Now I know—I’m just running a different kind of operating system.
I think algorithmically. Not in some robotic way, but in the sense that I’ve built up a ton of small programs over time—based on what worked, what hurt, what helped. The hard part is that each little algorithm expects clear inputs. Emotions should be part of that—they give urgency and meaning. But people? People don’t always give you clean inputs.
That’s where it breaks. That’s where I break. When the input doesn’t compute—when it’s subtle, passive, or emotionally coded—I get stuck. Sometimes it’s a full-on crash. Sometimes it’s just frustration or shame. I’ve joked it’s like a blue screen of death, but emotionally.
When It Works—and When It Doesn’t
At work, systems thinking is a cheat code. There’s structure, goals, feedback loops. It makes sense. Relationships… less so.
When someone shares a problem, I want to fix it. Because fixing = love, right? It brings relief. But sometimes they didn’t want fixing. They wanted presence. That distinction? Still trips me up.
And subtlety - it is a whole thing. People hint at needs through tone or silence or sideways gestures. I don’t see it. Not because I don’t care, but because my system doesn’t even register those as valid inputs. I missed so many signs in past relationships. I still carry guilt about that.
Building Better Logic (Sort of)
I’ve tried to evolve. I started using tools like the feelings wheel to give language to what used to just feel like noise. I learned about nonviolent communication, which sounds cheesy but honestly helped.
I try to ask more questions now, even when I’m itching to solve something. I try to be curious, not corrective. And I’ve started thinking more about the systems other people are running—how their attachment style or background might shape the way they communicate.
There’s beauty in that. And sometimes systems thinkers, when aligned emotionally, can be deeply romantic. We’re intentional. We sync our logic with feeling. It’s not spontaneous, but it’s steady.
Still, it’s a balancing act. And I mess it up a lot.
Craving Simplicity, Drowning in Complexity
Here’s the paradox: I want things to be simple—but I also crave complexity. I’m hungry for new algorithms, new ideas, new patterns. And that hunger burns hot.
But too much input? It spirals. Especially after big transitions—like moving back into a house full of emotional history. That kind of change shakes the system. And when the system is overloaded, I don’t feel creative—I feel chaotic.
Sometimes I need to shut the world out just to reboot. Less input = fewer bugs.
Grey Area Doesn’t Always Compute
People think systems thinkers are black-and-white. That’s not always true. I’ve learned to build tolerance into my logic—to create rules that allow for uncertainty. Especially with words. I’ve obsessed over terms like “boundaries,” “standards,” “expectations,” trying to make sense of what people mean when they throw them around. My therapist hears about it. A lot.
Now I’m learning that clarity doesn’t always mean precision. Sometimes it’s approximation with kindness. Sometimes it’s asking, “What does that word mean to you?”
If You Think This Way Too…
You’re not broken.
I’ve spent so much time trying to fix this part of me. But I don’t think it’s broken. It just needs better UX. It needs more patience. And maybe, most of all, it needs other people who get it.
This isn’t a how-to. I don’t have answers. But maybe the point isn’t to change your OS. Maybe it’s just to learn how to write more adaptable code—code that holds emotion as input, that includes tolerance, and that allows for the messiness of being a person.
And honestly? That’s a system worth building.