One of the finest things about being a baby is that our minds can be read by others. Without us needing to say anything, people around us will have a guess at determining what we intend -and, typically, they’ll get it right. They’ll correctly surmise that we are craving some milk or that the sun is shining in our eyes, that it’s time for a snooze or that we want to jiggle the keys again.
作为婴儿，最棒的事之一就是自己的想法可以被他人读懂。不用自己言说，周围的人就能猜出自己的意图--并且通常猜得正确。他们会正确地推测出我们想喝牛奶，或者阳光照进了眼睛，或者该打盹了，或者想再摇一摇钥匙。
This may be highly gratifying and important to us in infancy, but it can set up dangerous expectations for the rest of our lives. It can breed in us the sense that anyone – especially anyone who claims to care about us – should be able to determine our deepest aspirations and wishes without us needing to say very much. We can stay silent; they will mindread.
可能对婴儿期的我们来说，这无比满足、非常重要，但对我们的生活来说，这种期望可能会带来危险。它会使我们产生这样一种感觉：我们不需要言说很多，任何人--尤其那些声称关心我们的人--就能知道我们内心深处的所愿所想。我们可以保持沉默，他们会读我们的心。
This explains a widespread tendency to assume that others must know what we mean and want without us having actually told them anything clearly. We assume that our lover must know what we’re upset about, that our friends should realise where our sensitivities lie and that our colleagues must intuitively grasp how we want things done in presentations.
这解释了一种普遍倾向，即假设别人一定知道自己所想之意，但实际上自己并没有明确告诉别人。我们假设爱人一定知道自己的烦恼，朋友能意识到自己的敏感之处，同事一定凭直觉知道自己希望在演讲中如何呈现。
