I talk a lot.
It works out well. Most people enjoy listening. A few don't, but my uninhibited way of speaking provides juicy material with which to amuse themselves later, behind my back, so everybody wins.
Talking happens on different levels: Everyday exchanges that create moods - hopefully cheerful but sometimes depressing - within a home. Casual greetings between neighbors working in their yards. Polite chatter with the cashier at Kroger. Matter-of-fact transmitting of information to the doctor. Workplace banter. Sweet talk between lovers. So many ways to connect with people who share our space.
It works out well. Most people enjoy listening. A few don't, but my uninhibited way of speaking provides juicy material with which to amuse themselves later, behind my back, so everybody wins.
Talking happens on different levels: Everyday exchanges that create moods - hopefully cheerful but sometimes depressing - within a home. Casual greetings between neighbors working in their yards. Polite chatter with the cashier at Kroger. Matter-of-fact transmitting of information to the doctor. Workplace banter. Sweet talk between lovers. So many ways to connect with people who share our space.
Jonelle - age 51
My only real job in the outside world took place in a factory type setting. About 800 employees. I spent 6 years among them. They were wonderful years. Wonderful people. I was 51 years old when I started. 57, when I quit. At my "going-away" party I listened to some beautiful compliments and I was touched and humbled ... but I remember thinking, these people don't really know me and I don't know them. Six years of struggling together to make machines do what they were designed to do ... improvising ... taking chances ... covering for each other ... laughing ... joking. Six years of sitting together in the break room. Six years of collecting money to send flowers to somebody's hospital room. Six years of surface contact. Nothing more.
And that's as it should be. Bared souls are not suitable in the workplace. Big smiles, cheerful voices, and helpful hands are proper when on the job. Nothing more.
In our personal lives, however, we crave emotional connections with greater depth.
I've heard it said that if people can count three good and true friends when they reach the end of their lives, they're blessed. I am richly blessed. I have one friend from childhood who is special. I seldom see her. We don't keep in touch, but just knowing she's alive makes the world a nicer place. I have another friend who came into my life during the 70's. Almost no contact anymore, but she remains firmly installed inside my heart. Dear to me. Then, there's Joey ... Keeper of all my secret sorrows ... Sharer of all my joys. Joey and I speak on all levels in every conversation. What would I do without her?
Always and forever, there are my children ... Dearer than life ...
Perhaps my words - whether by letter, phone or face-to-face - are sometimes too passionate when dealing with children and grandchildren. Is it possible to care too much? To try too hard to understand and to be understood? Yes. Maybe. Probably.
Intense personal feelings aren't meant to be experienced on a daily basis. They're too exhausting. They absorb energy that could better be put to use working, studying, living and playing.
I must try harder to remember this when exchanging future thoughts with younger generations.
The rules of life are ever-changing and seldom easy.
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