People do some really funny things when they find out you can't talk. When I first started to get hoarse I would talk very softly. Often the person I was talking to would immediately start talking more quietly. Or how about my twelve year old? She is hearing impaired and uses lip reading to supplement her hearing aid, so sometimes I just mouth a response hoping she'll read my lips. Usually she just leans her good ear closer and says, "huh??". A couple of people suggested I learn sign language (yeah, like everyone can understand sign). Writing is even weirder. This weekend I had two people who responded to one of my notes by reaching for my pad and pen to write me back a response! We laughed and laughed about how silly that was and yet it was so automatic. If I'm writing, then they must also.
Or, take my family, for example (or just take my husband...no, please, I insist!). They have continued to ask questions and call out my name to find out what room I'm in at the house. My family still treats me as if I can talk. It is so automatic and my malady isn't visible, so there isn't a reminder. They just do not yet get it that I'm not supposed to talk. This weekend, before we left to go to Charlotte for a dance convention, I blew up at the girls and actually swore OUT LOUD. When I cooled down I had a revelation - it has not been too hard for me to change my behavior (not talking) but I can't make them change their behavior (asking questions). Hmm, trying to change other people...what is it that the sages say about that? Still, how can it be that they are forgetting something that is so monumental to me??
Friends, on the other hand, don't seem to have as hard a time. Take this weekend, for example, at the dance convention. The dance events are usually an excuse for the dance moms to get together and gossip, watch dance, shop and partake in adult refreshment. Notice how I put gossip first on that list - dance moms love to talk! So, everyone at the studio was quite worried about me. They offered to help me check in and admonished me if they caught me talking while ordering food. And when my dry erase pen died on Saturday night, one of the mom's ran to the gift shop and bought me a pad and pen! She didn't want me to feel left out. So sweet! I got an offer of marriage, too. That's right (wait for it) I'm now "the perfect wife!". Yep, I get a lot of "your husband must be so happy".
Seriously, being at an event where talking is a primary pastime and not being able to talk...let me do a lot of listening. And here's what I think, everyone should have this opportunity. To just listen. So much of what we say is noise - trifles and tidbits, questions and queries, noise. Yes, I have opinions when the moms get started on one of their riffs about the studio or school or girls in general. But it wasn't so hard to keep them to myself when I knew I had to - and I was surprised. One of the (rare) dads who came even commented on how frustrated I must be because I like discussion and usually have some good comments to offer and now just can't due to the laborious task of writing. I wasn't that frustrated - these people were kind and didn't demand much from me. They didn't ignore me, but they also gave me space to just be there. They stopped when I did have something to add via paper, but didn't ask too many questions. I liked watching the dynamic - who talks when and about what - how different groups clumped together and then drifted apart. It is almost like being a fly on the wall, but a nice fly, a fly you don't want to kill but are perfectly happy to let exist on your wall, listening. In nursing school they told us that the hardest thing for us to do would be to just listen. And it's true, our society isn't comfortable with silence. We talk just to fill the void.
I'm learning to be comfortable with my silence.
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3 comments:
Very nice entry... Well-written, good focus, support, examples... :) Anyway, it's true-- I love staying silent and listening to the way conversations meander. I sometimes wish I had an excuse to do it and not feel just slightly awkward\anti-social.
Hey, keep this blog up, and in no time you'll be able to write one of those "A year of...." books. (You know, "A year of biblical living," "A year of eating local foods,"-- you get the idea...)
i love the second paragraph...henny youngman was rolling over in his grave...really,
take my husband (wife!). nice blog, jackie.
Wow, sounds like a 'through the looking glass' experience, being an anthropologist silently studying your own family and friends. Reminds me of a poem I learned in 4th grade at good old STA, "A wise old owl lived in an old oak. The more she saw, the less she spoke. The less she spoke, the more she heard. Why aren't we like that wise old bird!"
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