Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Reluctant evolution.

June 20, 2017


I have come to the realization that I have no gift for this spontaneous verbal communication thing. Right? I mean, with words and pages, you have time between the brain part and the speaking part. You can delete, rethink, re-word, and if none of it works, you have the miraculous pencil eraser or control-Z function. If you're very lucky, you have a reader and an editor to make sure that what you think is how you're read. 


It's a lovely, lovely thing. Elegant, meaningful, and as true as possible. 


So, speeches and presentations are okay, but the conversing part eludes me, as if there's a spark plug missing, and either I sound nothing like myself, or I fumble with a language I've eaten and drank, slept with and walked with my entire life. 


Or, to offer another analogy, it's like running a marathon in high heels--doable, I suppose, but terribly awkward and regrettable afterward.


And I know there are those of us for whom the opposite is true--the spoken is a gift and an art, a tapestry to be woven, worn, and passed on, hand to hand, and man, is that ever a lovely phenomenon to witness. 


But I, for one, am quite sure that I would be happily silent for weeks on end, and the audible world would be a more peaceful place for it.








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