The Art of Connecting Through Words- Or Not Being Understood
November 20, 2012-
I always like stories, and I feel as though many of those I tell are gleaned from experiences which may or may not have anything to do with- well, anything. Sometimes I tell them simply to hear myself chatter at the typewriter I imagine, or perhaps listening to the music of the keys sends me, from somewhere far away. Like some kind of message from a sky blue expanse, trickling a ray of sun down over my hands while they smoothly chug out letters, telling me to keep going; there must be something greater than this simple little box on which all of the numbers, letters, and cognizant sounds are portrayed. In fact, I think that the beauty felt, seen, and heard, all of the senses which envelop you when storytelling, are all part of life experiences which grow, when they are in you. The most likely begin as nothing- a sight, or a sound, and then demonstrate all of the other senses as we nourish them.
Some of you may not think that is comprehensive at all. In fact, at the moment, I wonder whether anything that I write down is ever understood by others. I think that our words are so uniquely tailored, that we never truly understand with each other. However, we do connect, or magnetically oppose one another. In the Writing Center last week I underwent my own example of one such moment, which weathered me into a person with more wisdom, or storytelling- whatever you want to call it. This particular woman walked in with a supercilious manner swarming about her, glanced at the scene in front of her, turned to me, and said,
“There’s no place to sit?” I pointed to all of the available seats, which, to me, were as plain as her own nose. That nose could have breathed fire though. She spun around and, much to my surprise, made a beeline for the table directly before us, where a lab student sat, busily writing one of his assignments. “I’ll sit here,” she said, nodding. Then she faced the student, gesturing at all of his work that spread across the table. “Is this all your stuff?” she asked him, as if she couldn’t believe it. “Here. We’re just going to shove some of this down.”
When I sat down with this individual, my mind was spinning with all of the ways in which I could take control over this situation before it got out of hand. Some of my quick thinking must have shown on my face-
“Are you scared of me?” The woman asked me. Those thoughts quickly turned into disbelief.
“What?”
“I asked if you’re scared of me. ‘Cause you’re looking like you’re a little scared.” Inspiration struck me now. I shook my head at her.
“No,” I answered, slowly, smiling. “Are you scared of me?” I asked her, pointing to myself. She answered, of course, negatively. I started to tutor her.
She had three journal entries in all, and did not seem willing to take my advice on any of them. When I had finished, we had gained absolutely nothing out of the session, because I in the role of the tutor could not reach this person, and she, as the student, refused to listen to any of the tips I gave to her. Whenever I made a suggestion, she’d simper at me a bit, and say, “But I like it the way it is.” I would then nod my head and say, “of course, that’s fine. These are only suggestions- ” I tried to emphasize the word, spreading my arms out to help myself articulate, pointing at the woman- “to help you.” She would wave me aside, giving the same response.
When we finished reading through all of the entries, she began to pack all of them into her bag. As she zipped it up, she looked down at me, saying,
“And now I have a little bit of advice to give you. Now this is only me speaking to a younger person, to give the benefit of an older person’s wisdom.” I bit back what I really wanted to say. In my mind, a particular point in our discussion stood out. I remembered her waving her hands in front of her face while I struggled to give her well-received commentary, telling me that she had hot flushes- this entire session was absolutely bizarre. Perhaps she was simply, in this case, having a terrible day? I nodded however, barely refraining from rolling my eyes.
“I’m listening.”
“Now,” she said, “all throughout this session I had the feeling that you didn’t want to be that close to me.” I know that my mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t refrain from staring at this exotic specimen that was still talking. “Excuse me?” I asked. She gestured at the space between our chairs. My mind went into overdrive. She had actually been measuring the feet between us while I had been tutoring her? Who would have thought . . . this was the reason that she did not take my advice? Or was she completely out of touch? Odd pun to use.
“We’ll, look we’re we started out.” And then she proceeded to demonstrate where she thought we were before the session started. “And now you’re all the way over there.” I glanced between our respective seats, at a space that didn’t look at all significant. “I didn’t even realize . . . I usually like to give students their space when I tutor, because a reposed position seems to put them at ease as well.” She brushed my words aside.
“Frankly, I find your attitude standoffish. This makes me wonder if I smell bad, or- does she just not like me? Why doesn’t she want to be close to me.” The dendrites in my head were sparkling. Firecrackers went off, and I know that my face turned red as I struggled to hide my emotions. She smiled down at me, understanding my feelings, for the first time throughout this tutoring session, truly. “Now I’m very good at reading auras. People always tell me that I’m extremely good at- being able to read people- you know.” Again I had to fight to choke down my words. People felt that she was extremely good at reading people? She had me all wrong. Then her smile got a bit brighter.
“But, on the plus side, you’ve got very nice skin.”
Okay. So the session was over with. All throughout this one, the tutor behind me and to my left had been watching quietly, and we had our own little discussion when it was over, mostly concerning my own indignant spirit. I did learn something out of all this, however. Most of our lives our primarily made up of that which appears to be absolutely pointless in the ritual of idea-giving, but, guess what? When I sit down after an occurrence such as this one my pen showers the fireworks that had been suppressed as I was forced to listen to that lady. I’ve come to the conclusion that fireworks, create who we are.
So what is today’s writing tip? Find something to say. After awhile, you realize that you have the right to say it. Don’t hold back due to the nature of the subject, whether or not it will make any sense, whether or not it is comprehensive. Like a message from the sky, let the words flow- you’ll soon find out it’s worth it.
Until next time,
Brooke ~
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