The words you choose to say sometimes are just as important as the decision to speak.
And yet, I grew up in a family where every word we speak must be able to keep up with our thoughts, especially those that aren't said. Where we learn to think faster than we speak, or otherwise bear the consequences. Where we shut our mouth when in anger, or otherwise regret them later. Where we don't compliment airily. Where we encourage people to talk about themselves, rather than talk about ourselves. Where we learn to be a good listener. Where we know when it's time to walk away.
My father is a man of few words. And yet when he preaches in church, everyone listened.
My mother speaks with her eyes. And yet we siblings can hear every word in clarity.
My sister mostly speaks, she doesn't talk. When I was 12, I asked her the difference, she told me I'll learn.
My brother talks only when he feels a need to. Ironically, his 2-year-old daughter chirps endlessly and mimics every word.
My younger sister whispers. He who has ears, let him strain to hear.
And me? I keep trying to figure out why I am better at putting my thoughts in writing than speaking them out loud. Why when I try to describe my feelings, people get it mixed up. Or when I try to explain myself, people easily misunderstood. Perdition.
Maybe it's just a matter of saying the words that have kept you up all night thinking about, that makes it sound right. Maybe it's timing. Maybe it's the listener. Maybe it's upbringing. Maybe it's just genetic.
So there I stood listening to the sound of my own voice ... speaking in the near dark, facing the mirror, glancing at my own reflection, watching my lips moved, unwavering eye contact, conjuring words out of thin air, whatever that came to mind, whether it made sense or not.
They're right. A speaker likes to hear the sound of his own voice.
p/s: Sorry I ranted. If it made no sense to you, that's alright. I don't get it either. Happy Weekend.
