There's an idea wrapped around a painful emotion in my mind today, and it's circling around itself, spiraling, in fact, and it's about to jet out in splitters and fractioned sentences. I'm not sure if I can get it all out on one neat page the way my perfectionistic self would like, but here I am trying despite myself. And despite the words I emit, as much of a toxic stream of consciousness as it may seem, I hope you think I'm more clever and artistic than hopeless and strange by the end of this post. I may need proper validation of that. Of this.
I've been thinking about communication. What is it? How do I do it? It is a thing with so many minute parts, and there are so many versions and approaches to take to make it real. Sometimes I don't think I can put it together right. Even though I love writing, and some people say it's the strongest skill I have, and writing is obviously one way to share the innards of a mind, I've always felt that speaking my inner truth is strenuous, difficult, at times agonizing work that I am just not good at. No one really taught me how to do it... I always heard words and expressions and "I feel" statements, but those words seemed to echo as if it was just the residual effect of hitting on a hollow drum. I've always sensed that there was more to be heard at the heart of things, but I never did. And hence, I've learned to echo the echoes, and keep my feelings hostage within myself, protected under thick glass. The truth is in the bell jar.
In learning other languages, I've noticed a difference in how well I can hear the words versus how well I can speak them. In early stages of French speaking, I could hear it much better than I could let it out. My voice was timid, my accent was nonexistent, and the idea of speaking up promoted an anxiety my English-speaking mind had never known. It was through many painstaking years and classes against my will that I could come to a shift in French communication, and suddenly I could speak it with much greater ease than I could comprehend it auditorily. My professors would put on a very simple cassette recording and my ears would freeze over. "Je ne comprend pas! J'ecoute rien!! Zut alors!" I'd screech to no avail. Only after a few more intensive classes did I start to tie the two skill sets together, and hear and speak with equal mediocrity, though I still never trusted myself in what I heard or said. I'd question the words and myself constantly, "vraiment? vraiment?" I finished 6 years of study and 2 trips to Paris with a B average, then called it quits on French. I never really came close to mastering the art of listening and speaking with confidence.
I'm seeing now that my English skills are not so much up to par either, at least not to where I think they ought to be. I remember screaming at my mom when I was a teen that she was not listening to me. I'd bark, "I know you can HEAR me, you HEAR my words, but you are not LISTENING to the meaning of them!" Of course I'd say this relatively wise statement at the top of my lungs so the only thing my mom could actually take in was the speed of my verbose wind and a brief shower of sharp spit. I was convinced she just didn't care about whatever I had to say, it never occurred to me that my ability to say what I had to say was equally important, and even more to blame.
As I left my angst and rage and grew into adulthood I continued to tango with my communication skills. My listening abilities led often, but other times my voice could not be stopped. From where I stand now, I just hope that grad school will teach me the delicate dance and partnership between actively listening to sharing my point of view. I certainly don't have it down yet.
Example: I frequently entertain my urge to tell my roommate how to live in our apartment. I think a lot of my requests of her are valid, like when she has dinner parties and leaves the dishes over flowing in the sink, or when she leaves spilled coffee on the counter, or sneakily takes my personal travel mugs with her to work; all that said and felt, I recognize I'm still an asshole for telling her how to do things my way. I *try* to be sweet in my approach... I try to make small talk with her before I stab into her hygiene. I try to put my demands in the form of a question, like, "Can you please keep my scissors in the kitchen and stop taking them into your room," and if these petitions are left on padded paper and stuck to the fridge, I almost always conclude with a smiley face and a "love ya!"
I don't think she hears me in the way I think I'm speaking. She seems to keep taking my things and disrespecting my desires. She seems to refuse my need for control. I guess I can't blame her - my mode of wants and needs is probably a bit harsh, and in the land of the free, who really wants that kind of dictatorship?
It's funny how much easier it is for me to tell her what to do than the vice versa. She left me a note the other day in thick green marker that read "leave me your mail key so I can make a copy for myself" (she hasn't had her own mail key since she moved in 4 months ago), and underneath that message, in a different sized font and color, she wrote "and put a new trash bag in the bin after you take out the garbage." Never mind that the bin has been soaking in bleach to remove the mold spores, and that the absence of trash bag was quite intentional; never mind that she's been piling up coffee filters on the counter and letting the fruit flies have a field day; her communication to me left me bitter and a little extra spiteful. I tore the note off the fridge. I crumpled it and tossed it on the pile of coffee grounds. I left the bag out of the bin. And apparently I'm not very good at listening either.
Tit for tat, I suppose. Communication is a game of war masked in day clothes and dirty dishes. It's a mindless echo of things that don't really matter. I'm holding onto empty words and sticky notes and ignoring the heart at the center of things... or that a heart should be at the center of things.
I just can't seem to master my own language. I can't hear what I'm saying and I can't say, for sure, what I hear. I don't really know what I want to say, which means I don't really know how I feel, which is a pretty evident problem.
To make this matter worse, I'm also realizing that my emotional language might not be the same language or dialect of those around me. Ok sure we mostly speak English, but that doesn't mean we all "get" each other. My great friend Laura pointed me to Gary Chapman's 5 love languages, and although it stems from a Christian agenda, I found its basic concept interesting and basically true.
Chapman claims that there 5 ways (languages) people communicate their needs and wants and love, and each individual maintains just 1 general language... whether it's well received by others or not. The languages or styles are as follows:
- Words of Affirmation, in which bearers of this language feel love when they are complimented, encouraged, and appreciated.
- Quality Time, in which speakers desire personal and focused attention with their loved ones, that is void of distraction, and in which people can share thoughts and make memories.
- Receiving Gifts, in which people of this style feel most loved when they are given valuable symbols to associate love; the symbols could be of monetary value or not at all, but they are visible reminders of love.
- Acts of Service, in which random acts of kindness, as simple as doing chores without being told, or as detailed as planning a special getaway, give individuals the strongest feeling of love.
- Physical Touch, in which a person responds best to actual contact more than words or ideas. People who speak this language prefer hugs to advice, and can have very specific tastes on other touches from handshakes to sex.
I feel that I know a little bit about each of these languages; I can see myself in different scenarios where I'd respond in different styles. My first thought, though, if I had to pick just one way of loving, is through Quality Time. I'm comfortable taking someone aside, alone, and discussing all the bits that make me me and learning all the bits that make him/her her/him. Getting to know, say, a potential partner through a group outing or public effort makes me uneasy, as if I'd be on display. I like individualized attention - I like to give it with intention.
Unexpectedly however, the more I divulge this, the more I might be keen on symbols of love. I don't consider myself materialistic at all, and I always thought words were still more important to me than things. But... refer to previous posts and there is enough evidence to prove I do want love in a tangible form. The idea of love is hard for me to grasp, maybe because I've never really heard it before. But if someone could show it to me... and say, "Hey! This is it! This is something for you. It's something small. It's something cheap and manmade. It's something no one else may care about at all, but it's for you because I care," then I might be able to "get it." I don't want expensive things, but I think I want visible signs of affection. A mixed tape would suffice. Roses would work, too.
Do I want to give physical things to another as a display of my love? Well, not really. I'd still rather give my very attune attention and mind and voice. So STILL it seems I don't give and take, hear or speak, at the same accord. I'm an anomaly and an oxymoron. Maybe I'm just a moron. The verdict isn't out on that one yet.
The virtue in this long and ramped mind-tramping is that I am learning more about myself (hip-hip, hooray!) and that maybe if you know me, you are learning me even better now. Maybe I or you or we can make this or that better from this point onward... whether this or that is how we communicate, how we get along, how we understand each other, or how we don't.
It's a bit of type-vomit, I admit. What I'm saying is certainly not a pretty package. I'm frankly still confused and wanderlust in my mind. Maybe all this contemplation of talk and perception and love is just one monotonous note to get through the day. Maybe tomorrow will be even worse. Who can say?
But I'm letting my heart out of the bell jar here. This is my emotion in the truest way I can show it. I hope it’s decent looking enough. I hope you didn't mind. I hope I can move forward now, and continue this honest and in sync mode of communication.
If it's not good enough... well... I'll write more again soon. This will be this. And that will be that. tit for tit, tat for tat.
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