1. When I was a kid, I was a hand-raiser. I remember once in the 4th grade almost bursting out of my seat, palm flailing, wanting wanting wanting Mr. Poulsen to call on me. His eyes kept scanning the classroom from one end to the other, settling on my eager face for a moment then moving past it, until finally he peered at me over the rim of his glasses and said, “Angie, I think we need to let someone else in the class have a chance to participate.”
Oooff.
Lesson #1: Know-it-alls are annoying
2. My first big marital fight started over a WWII commemorative stamp. Apparently, the USPS had decided to issue a stamp with a picture of a mushroom cloud, then thought better of the idea and withdrew it. What began as an relatively benign comment to my husband about the ridiculousness of such an idea evolved into a tense discussion about war and geopolitics, then devolved into a line-item dissection of both my and my husband’s past sins and current failings. We were so certain that if we just KEPT TALKING that we’d finally resolve the stupid argument and fall asleep loving each other again. But at the end of the night (or at the beginning of the morning—it was around 3 a.m. if I remember right) we finally fell into bed exhausted, frustrated, and sad.
Lesson #2: The well-known piece of advice offered by old ladies at bridal showers, “Never go to bed angry!” is a load of baloney. At least if you’re a former debate club member married to another former debate club member.
3. The people I like best—my closest, dearest friends—are those who are willing to be real and honest with me. I know their hopes and dreams and struggles and pains. I prize openness in relationships, and it’s almost impossible for me to have a meaningful friendship with somebody who insists on holding the world at arm’s length. I feel that I owe it to my friends to be open and trusting with them, as well. But I remember a particular lunchtime conversation where I unloaded a bunch of complicated feelings about parenting one of my children, and when I came home and saw that sweet kid lying on the couch, reading a book, the sense that I’d betrayed that child’s trust hit me right in my gut.
Lesson #3: There are some things that shouldn’t be shared, even with my closest, dearest friends. Especially when people I love would be hurt if they knew I shared it.
4. The day after the Presidential election in 2008, I shut down my Facebook page and didn’t come back for months. I’d posted what I thought was an innocent, inoffensive status update about the day’s events, but when I returned home after running errands, I found an all-out political brawl had erupted on my wall, spearheaded by one of my Facebook friends who took particular delight in telling another of my friends (whom she didn’t know) that she was going to hell. Also: my husband keeps getting forwarded emails from people who know his political leanings, but insist on barraging him with “information” that proves he’s an idiot for believing what he does. Also: the only time in my life I’ve ever had a real fight with a certain family member whom I love (and who shall not be named, see above) was over politics. Also: I’m interested in politics, pay attention to national and world events, have pretty firm opinions, and hold a philosophical belief that people should be able to speak the truth as they see it in order for a democracy to function properly.
Lesson #4: Philosophical beliefs aside, I’m beginning to doubt it’s possible in this highly-charged environment to have a productive discussion about politics, unless the people having the conversation are already pretty much on the same page. I’m not sure if it’s worth it to me to engage in such discussions, especially with people I care about who also happen to disagree with me.
5. During my first ever course in graduate school (Women’s Literature–it was such an awesome class), the professor asked me to read the poem “A Litany for Survival” by Audre Lorde. I was embarrassed to find myself in tears by the time I reached these final few lines:
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive
The issue of daring to speak despite my own fear was (and remains) a very potent one for me. It was scary for me to take that class, jumping back into school with two little kids at home. It was scary for me to write. It was even scarier for me to see anything I’d written published. But I believed then, and continue to believe today, in the power of speaking. In telling the truth. In pushing past the fear.
Lesson #5: I shouldn’t be afraid of the sound of my own voice.
I’m a talker, it’s true, both in my personal and professional life. But as you can see by my examples above, I find myself quite regularly conflicted over when to raise my hand high in the air and when to sit in my seat and “hold my peace.” Tell me: what have you learned about navigating the treacherous terrain between speaking and silence?
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