To anyone who has loved the sound of their own voice. To anyone who finds themselves dominating the conversation in a room, even with the intent of being “helpful”. To anyone who has formulated a stream of thought while someone else was speaking.
This has been me. This writing is for both of us.
For those that receive Lucrezio’s biweekly letter, I began my brief rambling with a question. Do you trust me? No need to regurgitate the words that followed, except for these, as they may shape where we go from here:
As soon as we click on the app or open the browser, we have swung wide the doorway to our homes, and your entire household is now in view of this invisible company. We sit in each other’s crowded living rooms at multiple points in the day, yet rarely share in words heard by more than our eyes.
Social media has revealed to us a deep need for knowing and being known. To such an extent that we will constantly welcome in friends and acquaintances alike for an exchange of thought and a wide view of our most intimate of places without actually being in one another’s company. Yet the ability to be known through this platform seems all too accessible to us, not to mention an easy road to affirmation if we can post or share the right thing, and so we willingly give our lives away.
Not everyone would immediately attach themselves to that initial description that I resonated with. Very much the opposite of being quick to listen, slow to speak, as words of wisdom have otherwise conveyed. Confession: I like being heard. I like feeling that my thoughts are not only heard but received as commendable. I am often at odds with myself in this regard and am regularly needing moments that humble me, which I am grateful to have received plenty of. Those moments have certainly had me questioning if what I have to share is worthwhile, but as the artist in me goes, I feel a pull to continue to speak. And as the leader in me goes, I am compelled to continue to speak into.
Some of this has roots in my story. From very early on, high school if not before, I have consistently found myself in a leadership role. Thereby have felt that my words should have weight. To the point where I concealed elements of myself in order to maintain a position of strength. It was a grievous process where a series of conversations between myself and an attender during my first full time role at a church put my very authenticity into question. The weight of my words was actually nullified because the core of myself was being judged. Sadly the challenge to my character felt anything but loving, although now further removed from that moment of time, I understand with more clarity what was being said of me. Though I couldn’t reconcile that with my heart, and so penned the song As I Am.
You say you want to know me.
Can I convince you that I’m real.
For when my lips have spoken to you
They’ve broken my heart’s outer seal.
But there are things that you won’t know
And my heart won’t let them go. So-
Take me, take me as I am, please.
Take me, take me as I am, please.
Just take me.
Strangely I found myself in this place of wanting to hold worth, whether through words or position, and yet unwilling to relinquish the parts of me that would exhibit trustworthiness. Although I have learned from that experience and have been much more willing to share in the deeper parts of myself, social media reminds me that I have chosen not to give over everything. Ironically it’s the less intimate things that I am reserving, such as a day in the life of, from what we ate for breakfast to how I daily parent my children.
Though perhaps the focus is still all wrong. Or at least, in part, misplaced. We have all come to love the sound of our own voice and have found the various ways in which we can be heard. Whether dominating a living room conversation or looking for likes on a Facebook post, the content that you share simply speaks of how you want to be heard, not necessarily whether or not you want to be heard. If that seems a fair thought, then the moments that humble us need to be paired with something else entirely.
An ability to listen.
No matter the form a voice takes, let’s admit that it needs to be about our ears. We won’t be heard if we don’t know how to listen. Even if we share everything that would seem worth listening to.
These days our balance is most certainly off. Listening is difficult because we are hesitant of one another’s company, even with the use of a mask. Our speaking is far outweighing our ability to listen, and for myself in this pursuit of writing, all the more so. It seems to listen is constantly being threatened. I must admit that I am unsure how to navigate the challenge.
EXPOSITION: Anyone else unsure of how to listen in a cultural climate that is more privy to our ability to speak? To refuse to engage in social media or to not share with one another our stories are neither practical nor helpful, as the former has become a necessary platform of communication, while the latter is a bedrock of relationship. Although can you agree that we are very short on listening? Does the ability to listen not help us know when and how to speak? Let’s start there.
RISE: I often look into the things of life through the lens of home, believing firmly that what we practice in our homes will pour over into the rest, whether a conversation with friends or a post on social media. Begin at home. With a parent, a spouse, a child, learn to listen well. Engage with more questions than opinions. Speak as a way to build up, not puff up.
DENOUEMENT: “Fools find no pleasure in understanding but delight in airing their own opinions.” (a Proverb of Solomon)