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.

作為嬰兒，最棒的事之一就是自己的想法可以被他人讀懂。不用自己言說，周圍的人就能猜出自己的意圖--并且通常猜得正確。他們會(huì)正確地推測(cè)出我們想喝牛奶，或者陽光照進(jìn)了眼睛，或者該打盹了，或者想再搖一搖鑰匙。

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.

可能對(duì)嬰兒期的我們來說，這無比滿足、非常重要，但對(duì)我們的生活來說，這種期望可能會(huì)帶來危險(xiǎn)。它會(huì)使我們產(chǎn)生這樣一種感覺：我們不需要言說很多，任何人--尤其那些聲稱關(guān)心我們的人--就能知道我們內(nèi)心深處的所愿所想。我們可以保持沉默，他們會(huì)讀我們的心。

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.

這解釋了一種普遍傾向，即假設(shè)別人一定知道自己所想之意，但實(shí)際上自己并沒有明確告訴別人。我們假設(shè)愛人一定知道自己的煩惱，朋友能意識(shí)到自己的敏感之處，同事一定憑直覺知道自己希望在演講中如何呈現(xiàn)。