“One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can’t utter.” James Earl Jones
In the beginning I spoke of anticipated frustrations and revelations, and I have experienced both. When I set out on this journey, I asked those around me if there was anything in particular that they would be interested in learning about through this experience. I figured that while I was doing this I might as well let others glean from it as well. About half why through my vow of silence, my dad inquired after the human need to love and be loved and how that need, or the need to express love, was impacted by silence. By the time he asked about it, I had already begun to notice a change in my emotions and how they were displayed and perceived.
My quirky little nephew has a way of melting my heart into a blubbering mess of “I love you’s.” I found it both revealing and frustrating to express my love to him without words. I had always thought that since “actions speak louder than words” emotion would not be vastly effected by silence. But I was wrong. At two, he might be a little too young to realize that my act of playing trucks and reading books with him are gestures of my love for him, which might have been part of why I was frustrated by my silence when expressing love.
My dad noted that when a relationship has matured to great depths, we often find that the couple is just as comfortable “when you say nothing at all” then when they are verbally expressing their love. I believe that a relationship reaches the “when you say nothing at all” point after a passage of time when the verbal expression of emotion has taken place and taken root. That being said, I do not believe that those without the ability to communicate verbally never experience relationships of great depth. I believe they have unique ways of obtaining depth in relationships.
Love was not the only emotion that was impacted by my silence. My overall demeanor became much more melancholy and I was not the only one to notice. Despite my bright smile and laughter, I struggled to express my emotions. I found myself writing “ha ha ha” when I could have audibly laughed (I did allow myself to laugh during the vow of silence). Any change in emotion I bumped into presented a bit of a quandary for me. Disappointment, happiness, uncertainty, anger, compassion, dread, and hope were all a challenge for me to fully express. I think the words of the American poet Maya Angelou say it well, “Words mean more then what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.”
In an earlier “lesson learned” I mentioned that being silent is a solid place to start good communication skills, but it is only the beginning. I believe this lesson further illustrates that point. To gain depth in conversation, sometimes the human voice needs to be heard.
Lesson learned: silence may be golden, but the human voice can be priceless.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
... I am exposed.
I was writing a message to a classmate today, nothing personal or secretive, (probably more mundane then anything) but I noticed that I had no way of keeping others from “reading” my conversation. Eavesdropping made easy.
I think the same thing happens when I verbally communicate, but since I can’t see what I say, I don’t worry so much about whether or not others hear.
I need to pay more attention to what I say.
I think the same thing happens when I verbally communicate, but since I can’t see what I say, I don’t worry so much about whether or not others hear.
I need to pay more attention to what I say.
... the nephew eats flour.
The first night of my silence, my sister and her husband asked me to watch their two year-old son while they ran some errands. I figured I’d give it a go. Since I live with them, I’m well aware of his routine. What harm could be done? So the little tyke spent an evening with “Auntie Em”… in silence.
The evening went swimmingly. He parents had taught him some sign language so we were able to communicate the necessary information: “all done,” “more,” “please.” What I found to be more powerful then sign language was my affect and facial expressions.
The kid is smart. Yes, I’m biased, but I’m also impressed with how he reacted to my silence. He was much more quiet than normal, and kept looking at me funny, yet he was still his quirky little self. We read books. Well, he crawled into my lap with his favorite books and after staring at page one in silence for a long time, he gave in and “read” them to me. This is how he read “Where the Wild Things Are.” “And Max, and da moon. And Max. And Max. And da boat, and Maaaax. And grrrrrr. And da moon. Na-night.” Clearly, Max is a hit.
As any good auntie would do while babysitting, we had “craft time.” (I’ve found that it is best to make a mess out of the kitchen when his mom isn’t around.) We made playdoh. All went well until the first step. I had placed two cups of flour in a pot and had given him a spatula to stir it—and invitation to “have fun, go mad.” He obliged. I turned my back to grab ingredient number two and upon returning to my two year old little chef and his flour, I found that he had emptied a scoopful of flour into his mouth. I’m telling you, that is just about as funny as watching a dog eat peanut butter. We had fun mixing, tasting, and playing with our playdoh—all made in silence. He was very responsive to my non-verbal communication and “looks.”
One peculiar thing occurred: he tested me in ways he normally wouldn’t have. And every time he would start to act up, I would respond with a flat affect or shaking my head. He never pushed me far beyond that.
This illustrated the power of non-verbal communication. Even toddlers get it. I believe that non-verbal communication is one way to demonstrate active listening while being silent. I don’t usually think much about my non-verbal communication in everyday conversations, but I’m thinking that perhaps I should pay more attention to it. Looking at someone while they talk (and not off into space), and responding with appropriate facial expressions can add a certain depth to conversation that can’t be found elsewhere.
Lesson #1: Note the non-verbal.
Lesson #2: Don’t feed the nephew flour.
The evening went swimmingly. He parents had taught him some sign language so we were able to communicate the necessary information: “all done,” “more,” “please.” What I found to be more powerful then sign language was my affect and facial expressions.
The kid is smart. Yes, I’m biased, but I’m also impressed with how he reacted to my silence. He was much more quiet than normal, and kept looking at me funny, yet he was still his quirky little self. We read books. Well, he crawled into my lap with his favorite books and after staring at page one in silence for a long time, he gave in and “read” them to me. This is how he read “Where the Wild Things Are.” “And Max, and da moon. And Max. And Max. And da boat, and Maaaax. And grrrrrr. And da moon. Na-night.” Clearly, Max is a hit.
As any good auntie would do while babysitting, we had “craft time.” (I’ve found that it is best to make a mess out of the kitchen when his mom isn’t around.) We made playdoh. All went well until the first step. I had placed two cups of flour in a pot and had given him a spatula to stir it—and invitation to “have fun, go mad.” He obliged. I turned my back to grab ingredient number two and upon returning to my two year old little chef and his flour, I found that he had emptied a scoopful of flour into his mouth. I’m telling you, that is just about as funny as watching a dog eat peanut butter. We had fun mixing, tasting, and playing with our playdoh—all made in silence. He was very responsive to my non-verbal communication and “looks.”
One peculiar thing occurred: he tested me in ways he normally wouldn’t have. And every time he would start to act up, I would respond with a flat affect or shaking my head. He never pushed me far beyond that.
This illustrated the power of non-verbal communication. Even toddlers get it. I believe that non-verbal communication is one way to demonstrate active listening while being silent. I don’t usually think much about my non-verbal communication in everyday conversations, but I’m thinking that perhaps I should pay more attention to it. Looking at someone while they talk (and not off into space), and responding with appropriate facial expressions can add a certain depth to conversation that can’t be found elsewhere.
Lesson #1: Note the non-verbal.
Lesson #2: Don’t feed the nephew flour.
... I leave out the fluff.
fluff: (noun)
1. light, downy particles, as of cotton.
2. a soft, light, downy mass
3. something of no consequence
I talk a lot. My family probably thinks I talk too much. Much of what I say could probably be defined by #3 above. My Grandpa (and Dad) used to quote lines of poem to me. It went something like this "How I love to wind my mouth up, How I love to hear it go." (by Ibershoff) I think they secretly love my jabber, somewhere deep down inside.
I’ve always known that I talk a lot, but I never really considered how much of what I said is really unnecessary—until I said nothing at all. I have found myself setting out to pen words to someone and before the pen hits the paper I think “Do I really want to say this? I mean, I’ve got to write all this out and it’s time consuming, and… well, it is really necessary?” The answer, more often than not, is “No, this isn’t really necessary. It is fluff.” This begs the question: how much of what I normally say is just unnecessary. Verbal vomit. Ouch!
A need to fill the silence often haunts the best of us. We find it uncomfortable to sit in silence, or pause while we gather and organize our thoughts. It is easier to just start spewing forth words with a hope and a prayer that they hit the target we’re aiming at. Probably not an ideal tactic for orderly conversations…
Lesson here: quality over quantity.
1. light, downy particles, as of cotton.
2. a soft, light, downy mass
3. something of no consequence
I talk a lot. My family probably thinks I talk too much. Much of what I say could probably be defined by #3 above. My Grandpa (and Dad) used to quote lines of poem to me. It went something like this "How I love to wind my mouth up, How I love to hear it go." (by Ibershoff) I think they secretly love my jabber, somewhere deep down inside.
I’ve always known that I talk a lot, but I never really considered how much of what I said is really unnecessary—until I said nothing at all. I have found myself setting out to pen words to someone and before the pen hits the paper I think “Do I really want to say this? I mean, I’ve got to write all this out and it’s time consuming, and… well, it is really necessary?” The answer, more often than not, is “No, this isn’t really necessary. It is fluff.” This begs the question: how much of what I normally say is just unnecessary. Verbal vomit. Ouch!
A need to fill the silence often haunts the best of us. We find it uncomfortable to sit in silence, or pause while we gather and organize our thoughts. It is easier to just start spewing forth words with a hope and a prayer that they hit the target we’re aiming at. Probably not an ideal tactic for orderly conversations…
Lesson here: quality over quantity.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
... I have epic conversations.
About oranges. It can happen. Just reportin' the facts.
I took a drive with my sister tonight. I was behind the wheel, which left me virtually mute-- no dry erase conversation for me. Charades was all I had for communication. Hard to do in a car. While driving.
I learned things on that drive-- and not just about how strange and difficult charades can be while buckled up. On the ride to our destination, my sister was, with fervor and feeling, conversing with me. Within moments of her cessation, she shocked me with these words: "I feel like you're ignoring me." Grant it, the laughter that followed gave me reason to believe she was joking... at least half-way joking anyway.
Joking aside, she had just spoken the words I had been meaning to avoid-- for good. I embarked on this endeavor so that others would not have say that to me. And yet there it was-- only three days into this. It drove home the point that listening is not just being quiet. Albeit a solid start, being quiet is only part of the game.
On the return trip, I (again at the wheel) noticed a quaint little business we passed. I had not noticed it before and began, with crazy charades, to question my sister about it. The place was called Orange. I started out by pretending to eat and Orange. Well, she figured out that I was eating something... but that was about as far as we got. Then she asked me to spell it with sign language. Even though we both know the alphabet, that didn't work well for us. (Personally, I thought that O-R-A-N-G-E would be enough, but you know school teachers these days... ;) ) Once we finally got the "Orange" part taken care of, I then had to spell out that there was an establishment back yonder that I was interested in learning more about. We must have found our groove, because, albeit a bit slow, she figured out that I wanted to know about "Orange." After five minutes of charades she said "Oh, I don't know anything about it." Talk about a let down.
Once we stopped laughing, in her great wisdom she said "Wow. All that for nothing. Makes you think about how frustrating it must be for those with speech/hearing impairments to get their point across and then have it be for naught." Truth. Then I got to thinking about those we encounter that may not speak English as their first language. The same thing could be true for them. They FINALLY get a point across, only to have it brushed off by someone who can't, or won't help them. It is frustrating, to say the least.
Question is, when I am on the other side (the side my sister was on) what is my reaction to the plight of person trying to make a point. Do I listen? Do I look like I'm listening but sit there thinking "just make your point already!"? Ah, do I try to finish their sentences? We all know by now how much fun I have with that!!! Do I actively listen and respond in a way that can be helpful, even if I don't know the answer? The answer may vary from time to time, and frankly I'm not sure I'm ready to admit the answer. Not just yet.
Lesson One of driving charades: Being quiet is only the beginning.
Lesson Two of driving charades: Be understanding even when you may not understand.
Oh... and notify your sister that O-R-A-N-G-E doesn't spell "sandwich." (Good on ya, for getting that "eating" part right, sis!)
I took a drive with my sister tonight. I was behind the wheel, which left me virtually mute-- no dry erase conversation for me. Charades was all I had for communication. Hard to do in a car. While driving.
I learned things on that drive-- and not just about how strange and difficult charades can be while buckled up. On the ride to our destination, my sister was, with fervor and feeling, conversing with me. Within moments of her cessation, she shocked me with these words: "I feel like you're ignoring me." Grant it, the laughter that followed gave me reason to believe she was joking... at least half-way joking anyway.
Joking aside, she had just spoken the words I had been meaning to avoid-- for good. I embarked on this endeavor so that others would not have say that to me. And yet there it was-- only three days into this. It drove home the point that listening is not just being quiet. Albeit a solid start, being quiet is only part of the game.
On the return trip, I (again at the wheel) noticed a quaint little business we passed. I had not noticed it before and began, with crazy charades, to question my sister about it. The place was called Orange. I started out by pretending to eat and Orange. Well, she figured out that I was eating something... but that was about as far as we got. Then she asked me to spell it with sign language. Even though we both know the alphabet, that didn't work well for us. (Personally, I thought that O-R-A-N-G-E would be enough, but you know school teachers these days... ;) ) Once we finally got the "Orange" part taken care of, I then had to spell out that there was an establishment back yonder that I was interested in learning more about. We must have found our groove, because, albeit a bit slow, she figured out that I wanted to know about "Orange." After five minutes of charades she said "Oh, I don't know anything about it." Talk about a let down.
Once we stopped laughing, in her great wisdom she said "Wow. All that for nothing. Makes you think about how frustrating it must be for those with speech/hearing impairments to get their point across and then have it be for naught." Truth. Then I got to thinking about those we encounter that may not speak English as their first language. The same thing could be true for them. They FINALLY get a point across, only to have it brushed off by someone who can't, or won't help them. It is frustrating, to say the least.
Question is, when I am on the other side (the side my sister was on) what is my reaction to the plight of person trying to make a point. Do I listen? Do I look like I'm listening but sit there thinking "just make your point already!"? Ah, do I try to finish their sentences? We all know by now how much fun I have with that!!! Do I actively listen and respond in a way that can be helpful, even if I don't know the answer? The answer may vary from time to time, and frankly I'm not sure I'm ready to admit the answer. Not just yet.
Lesson One of driving charades: Being quiet is only the beginning.
Lesson Two of driving charades: Be understanding even when you may not understand.
Oh... and notify your sister that O-R-A-N-G-E doesn't spell "sandwich." (Good on ya, for getting that "eating" part right, sis!)
... I get harassed.
There's one in every group. That one person that does all they can to make you break a vow. :) You know who you are. And to you, I say this: Bring it!
All in good fun!
All in good fun!
... frustrations abound!
People finish my thoughts.
It never used to bother me if people would complete a thought for me when I would paused to create that perfect string of words. Different story now.
In our fast-paced society we have become uncomfortable when the cadence of life slows down. This, I feel, might be why people try to finish my thoughts-- it just takes too dang long to wait for me to write it all out! I find that people that generally are very patient in their listening are even eager to wrap it up for me. More often then not, they (with all good intentions) guess wrong.
Every play pictionary? You’re madly trying to draw some obscure person, place or thing (like the ones that come from the “difficult” category) and your team mates are making guesses that aren’t even close, before you really even get started. You then find yourself trying to figure out how to lead their train of thought from “donut” (what they are guessing) to “simpleton” (what they should be guessing). You could argue that if you had any artistic ability to begin with you wouldn’t have them guessing pastries in the first place, but that’s beside the point.
For the past three days my life has been a modified pictionary game with an uber eager team! Relax people. Let me have a thought.
In their defense, some people have noticed that they complete my sentences and asked me how I felt about it. I tell them it is frustrating, but that I understand and would probably do the same. Some have even confess that they were trying to help me by completing my thoughts-- they figured I would appreciate not having to write it all out. It only helps if they guess right. :)
Even when it does help, having people complete my sentences does make me feel powerless and in their control. Not a comfortable place to be. I know I am on the Top 10 Most Wanted list when it comes to finishing the thoughts of others. Knowing how it feels now, I'd like to change that.
Take home message: Slow down when listening. Don't finish thoughts unless they are your own. And learn how to draw.
It never used to bother me if people would complete a thought for me when I would paused to create that perfect string of words. Different story now.
In our fast-paced society we have become uncomfortable when the cadence of life slows down. This, I feel, might be why people try to finish my thoughts-- it just takes too dang long to wait for me to write it all out! I find that people that generally are very patient in their listening are even eager to wrap it up for me. More often then not, they (with all good intentions) guess wrong.
Every play pictionary? You’re madly trying to draw some obscure person, place or thing (like the ones that come from the “difficult” category) and your team mates are making guesses that aren’t even close, before you really even get started. You then find yourself trying to figure out how to lead their train of thought from “donut” (what they are guessing) to “simpleton” (what they should be guessing). You could argue that if you had any artistic ability to begin with you wouldn’t have them guessing pastries in the first place, but that’s beside the point.
For the past three days my life has been a modified pictionary game with an uber eager team! Relax people. Let me have a thought.
In their defense, some people have noticed that they complete my sentences and asked me how I felt about it. I tell them it is frustrating, but that I understand and would probably do the same. Some have even confess that they were trying to help me by completing my thoughts-- they figured I would appreciate not having to write it all out. It only helps if they guess right. :)
Even when it does help, having people complete my sentences does make me feel powerless and in their control. Not a comfortable place to be. I know I am on the Top 10 Most Wanted list when it comes to finishing the thoughts of others. Knowing how it feels now, I'd like to change that.
Take home message: Slow down when listening. Don't finish thoughts unless they are your own. And learn how to draw.
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