sometimes i envy people who can’t speak.
not the ones who are afraid to talk in front of others. i envy the mute.
i envision them walking around with a tablet or a mini-whiteboard, writing down their thoughts.
there’s a luxury in writing. i can compose words.
i can let someone else read them to make sure my intent is clear, and that it aligns with the words and phrases that i’ve constructed.
i can create order.
i can express myself clearly.
i know not everyone has this ability, but for some reason, that’s how God wired me.
growing up, i would prefer to write a note than talk to a girl.
i would prefer to journal to sort out my feelings rather than talk with another person.
even now, i prefer to send a text than to have a phone conversation.
when i was a teen, i wrote an impassioned plea to my parents as to why i felt i should have a room in the basement.
i felt that i was mature enough for the additional privacy, but i didn’t know how to articulate that with my mouth, so instead i left my parents a note.
i’m not the best writer in the world. but i sometimes can capture a moment, a thought, an emotion by typing words with my fingers instead of articulating them with my tongue.
but life doesn’t work that way.
and most of the time, when i have a verbal conversation with someone, i walk away with a level of regret.
i should have said this.
or i shouldn’t have said that.
maybe i could have phrased that differently.
or changed the order of my words.
i have a lot of Chris Farley SNL interviewer moments. (i realize not all of you will get that reference. that’s what Google is for.)
many times, i think i’m saying one thing, but it comes across completely different.
i meant to ask a question, and it came out with the wrong tone.
my snarkiness got in the way. (an evil gift i possess, and wield on occassion.)
my attitude and emotions—many times leftover from some past baggage, a stressful situation prior to the conversation, or just plain grumpiness—jump on the words, and don’t let go.
my words are like a spoonful of sugar, but with some vinegar mixed in.
so my post conversation replay in my head (because there’s always one) involves feeling misunderstood.
or angry—the majority of the time at myself.
i could have said that better. i could have handled that better.
or i could have said nothing at all.
someday me talk good. but for now, me only talk good every once in a while.
writing words allows me the luxury of time. it gives me space to craft a word, not just say it.
but life doesn’t work that way.
if i typed everything out, and pondered every word, it would be a very long and boring conversation.
so i’ll continue to stumble my way through this whole talking thing.
i’ll try to learn something from past conversations to adjust for future ones.
i’ll try to give myself some grace for things i should have said differently, or not said at all.
and offer lots of apologies, hoping that others will give me that same grace as well.
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image courtesy of flickr.com/creative commons/by chris blakely