Spewings of a discouraged, uptight visionary

There was an old eighties song with this refrain: "What are words for when no one listens anymore?" (Remember that song, that band, the singer with her trademark breathy, squeaky style? You do? Then you, too, are old.) But the song stuck with me, and I keep singing it to myself lately. More true, it is, every day. (Now I'm being Yoda.)

When I was young, I loved words. I loved to read, to write, to journal, to gab for hours and hours on the telephone. Words were magical, a sanctuary for me, a means of achieving change and growth, of acquiring new relationships and knowledge. Back then, I put a lot of stock in words.

Years passed, and I began teaching school. I honestly became aggravated by my own voice; perhaps every teacher does at times. And then there was grad school, where words themselves started to become tiresome. Often, nothing new was being said, it was only being expressed in a different way. I wasn't quite as enamored of words; I stopped short before finishing the Master's. I just didn't want more words in my world.

I switched careers, and technical writing and editing fit better, because it encouraged a more terse, to-the-point style of writing. Fewer words seemed like a good idea; being taciturn was downright appealing to me.

Words took center stage once again when I had my baby. Watching a child learn to understand language, then try to speak for himself, is fascinating. I grew tired of the sound of my endless voice, explaining, conversing, reading aloud, but it paid off. Thankfully, my son speaks and reads well.

But now? It seems I release my words into the wind, where they soar away, unheard, resented, ignored. My words have become traps, because what I say can and will be used against me. The words I employ are almost always displeasing to others, because they involve responsibility, work, jobs, schedules and timetables, commitments no one wants to keep. I am the lone Type A, and therefore I am the regular bearer of bad news.

I was recently accused by my partner; he informed me that I love telling people what to do. Truly, I do not. I am a reluctant leader. On personality tests, I always score high in leadership yet low in soft edges and relational skills, and I know that about myself: I'm effective but often insensitive when in charge. I don't enjoy leading, just like I didn't enjoy teaching; since I know I can be a cruel leader, I am guilt-stricken the entire time I'm doing it. Am I being too black-and-white? Do those I'm leading find me callous? Will I achieve anything other than hurt feelings? Usually, I end up leading only because there is a lack of leadership and an abundance of indecision, which I can't stand. Sometimes others are willing but not able—or the others who want to lead would clearly wreak havoc for various reasons.

I tried to defend myself, to explain to the accuser that I don't enjoy telling people what to do. I don't. But someone has to do it. To make matters worse, I told him, I am skilled not only at seeing inefficiencies, but also in foreseeing danger and mishaps and the like. I imagine the near future, and all sorts of avoidable but probable events leap out with crisp clarity. I want to help people get work done faster, reach their destination sooner, avoid any silly foibles. I want to help them steer clear of painful consequences, of injuries and unfortunate occurrences. And a lot of times, I am right; the things I foresee with concern pan out just as I'd feared. I hate it. There's no joy in being right about that stuff, just as there's no joy in leading when you know you're likely leaving a wake of bitterness.

I ponder the rest of my life, and I feel laden with the burden of silence. In all human situations where I'm involved at more than a surface level, I will be required to either bite my tongue or annoy people. Always. And how can I bite my tongue every time? Work still needs to be done, projects still need to be completed, meals need making, shopping must happen, laundry and tasks and cards and gifts and homework checks and appointments... how to accomplish it all without speech? Must I be the responsible, nagging wife and mom for all my days? And there's anxiety in being that one who supposedly "loves telling people what to do": I fear for my son and husband if I die. I ask my friends, Please, check in on them. Make sure they don't become hoarders, make sure the kid still goes to school, eats something other than pizza.

Would a big chalkboard work? A daily agenda that is written and need not be spoken? Doubtful. I fear it would go unseen, as do the jobs, assignments, timely meals, household messes, grass un-mown... It would likely be one more thing to go unnoticed by them, and yet one more item on my to-do list ("#47-update daily agenda"). I am weary, so weary.

I wish I would remember that no one is listening, and that more importantly, people learn best by doing... even if that do-ing involves falling flat on one's face. I wish I could remember to pray more and talk less,. And I really wish I were a mature enough Christian to say that I find as much satisfaction in God's working things out instead of me warning, reminding, carping, and then saying, "I told you so." No one likes hearing that.

Alas, I am not that big a person—yet.

I'm a small man in some ways, Bart. A small, petty man.
-Principal Skinner from The Simpsons

Almost writing about politics

So, I am a tad out of touch with the big world beyond our walls, and I had no idea that our President was delivering his final State of the Union last evening—until I turned on the TV and managed to catch the last 15 minutes or so. It was about what I’d expected in both topic and tone, and luckily George W. has the sense to keep it short (unlike some of our former, more verbose leaders). The most annoying thing to me, aside from the ridiculous up-and-down clapping performances that have always seemed so cloying and phony, was the fact that Nancy Pelosi was apparently reading something the entire time George was speaking. Not only was she rude enough to read as he delivered this important speech, she wasn’t even subtle about it; she made no effort to hide her boredom.

Now, if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that one’s professional demeanor reveals quite a lot about one’s personal behaviors. Her behavior, in very broad view on national (and international) television, tells me a lot about ol’ Nancy, and none of it’s good. I’m slightly embarrassed on behalf of the American people for placing a disrespectful person in a position of such authority—a very visible and vocal position, to boot, and one from which she platforms way more than I’d like.

I hear so many people bemoaning the state of our youth, how they’re rude, how they’re quick to spout their feelings without restraint, how they don’t consider the feelings of others, how they never ponder the future consequences of their actions. Why should they? I’m afraid Nancy is not alone; there are countless adults behaving in ways that they’d never teach their children, not just at work but in their own families and circles of friends. In many cases, young people today are simply modeling what they've been shown.

And sadly, if I step back and recall with truth and honesty, there are plenty of times when I’ve been a bit Nancy myself. I’m not proud of those times. I need to constantly remind myself about that plank in my eye before I go picking at the speck in someone else’s. And I need to remember, too, that any change I desire begins not with my changing someone else, but by my changing myself. A friend of mine reminded me about a great verse (thanks, Cari!) and I think I will write it here to further imprint it on my memory:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
Philippians 4:8

Keeping that in mind, I will now put Nancy and her undesirable behavior behind me. She deserves no more of my attention, aside from examining myself in light of my reaction to her—so as to ensure that I don’t behave in a similar fashion.

Sometimes we forget that what we’re putting into our minds and hearts is what comes out; what we’re entertaining in there, mulling over, spending time on, eventually consumes and becomes us. And looking at the world around me, I want to be pretty careful about what I’m letting in and what I'm dwelling on—for my own sake, and for the sake of anyone who may be watching me.

(Since this blog is really just an extension of my mind, I’ll be sincerely trying to keep it true, noble, right, pure, etc., for the very reason quoted above—those are the sorts of things I should be thinking about.)