... 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.