WordSisters

Category: Conversation

  • Scheduled vs. Spontaneous Phone Calls

    A spontaneous phone call from with a close friend or family member is a nice surprise. Depending on who it is, we might chat about upcoming plans, air out concerns (kids, siblings, work, the country), discuss a plant I’m excited about, describe a meal that turned out way better than expected, or grumble about how hard it is to find shoes that fit. 

    After a good talk, I feel closer to the person and buoyed by our connection. I think the habit developed years ago when I lived 16 hours away from family and friends. Then the calls nourished and re-centered me. They were the logical extension to my in-person conversations—I definitely got the Shriner talk gene.

    Recently, a few friends and family members have started asking to schedule a time to talk instead of trying our luck. That surprised me, since I like spontaneity. For some people, it’s a way of saying our conversation is important—let’s make sure we don’t miss each other. For others, it’s about being in different time zones. Fair enough.

    But here’s the thing—I’ve also discovered unscheduled phone calls can irritate some people or make them anxious. There are varied reasons for this:

    – Some rely on texting for casual chatting. A call signals trouble (Uh oh, what’s the matter?) Yikes! That never occurred to me since I prefer a call to a text. Calling offers nuance. Sarcasm, sympathy, irritation, worry, and amusement are easy to convey in a person’s tone of voice, but with texting, emojis have to do the heavy lifting of communicating emotional content. 

    – A spontaneous phone call may seem intrusive. Well, it can be. If I’m making dinner, working in the yard, or on a walk with my husband, I might not want to be interrupted. Then I let voicemail signal, “Not now.” If I make an impromptu call, I never assume the recipient has time to chat. I always ask if my call is convenient. If not, no worries! We’ll connect another time.

    – Texting to request a call time is now seen as more polite. The recipient will be spared the potential awkwardness or discomfort of saying, “Now isn’t a good time.” It took me a while to wrap my head around that idea, since I’m comfortable telling a caller I can’t talk if I’m in the middle of something. Or I just let the call go to voicemail. Apparently, that reaction isn’t universal.

    Scheduled vs. spontaneous phone calls? It seems to be a stylistic difference, maybe even a generational one. I have my preferences, but the goal is to connect, so I want to be sensitive to others’ needs and adjust if it improves our communication.  

    But if you’re thinking of me, just give me a call! I’ll let you know if I can’t talk.

  • Because There’s Not Enough Wine or Chocolate in the World for This

    This has been a tough week for me. Perhaps for you, too. I avoided the inauguration, choosing instead to honor Martin Luther King Jr., truly a man of vision, integrity, and character. Nevertheless, my emotions have been turbulent. What follows is the evolution of my feelings. Feel free to skip to whatever part you need to hear today. 

    Frustration 

    “Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”  Martin Luther King, Jr. from Strength to Love

    The first blog I wrote this week was about my frustration and dismay that so many Trump supporters reject mainstream media and rely on social media and political podcasts to form their views. In other words, user-generated content—someone else’s opinion. Facts are not expected or required.

    I struggled to think about how Trump’s supporters could possibly be influenced. How do verifiable truths become accepted again? Certainly not with factual arguments. But experiences can change minds. I hope that when it becomes clear he can’t deliver on his many outrageous promises, some of his supporters (not all–the diehard believers are beyond our influence) will become disillusioned and their disappointment will erode his power.

    • • •

    Then I thought, maybe WordSisters readers can’t bear another political conversation right now. So the next blog I wrote turned practical. 

    Survival Tactics

    “The dawn will come. Disappointment, sorrow, and despair are born at midnight, but morning follows.” Martin Luther King, Jr. from Strength to Love

    It’s imperative we not give up. But the bombardment of Trump’s awful decisions and destructive actions is hard to cope with. So I thought about sharing my survival tactics. 

    1. Focus on your family and friends. This is the sphere where you can have the biggest impact. Talk often, hang out together, plan meals and outings together. Take care of each other.

    2. Consume less news. Skimming headlines is fine. When you have limited power to effect change, being informed in a topline way is plenty. Read, listen, or watch news later in the day. Allow the good parts of your day to happen first. Good stuff dilutes the overwhelm. Avoid the many opinion pieces that speculate (Trump might ___. If Trump’s cabinet does this ____ might be at risk). Save your worry and anger for actual events.

    I believe in those coping mechanisms, but sometimes the world is too heavy and we need more.

    • • •

    Inspiration 

    What finally helped me the most was focusing on Martin Luther King, Jr.’s wisdom. He continued believing and fighting for years and years regardless of the many hardships and setbacks he and the other civil rights leaders experienced. We can too.

    “Let us rise up tonight with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, these days of challenge to make America what it ought to be. We have an opportunity to make America a better nation.” Martin Luther King, Jr., from his speech in Memphis the night before he died.

  • Because You Never Know

    I was in the National Gallery restroom washing my hands when another woman asked where I was from and if I was enjoying the museum—the sort of chitchat that happens in Washington, D.C., where so many people are from somewhere else.

    The woman was a bit taller than me and blonde, about my age. She told me she was from D.C. and used to work at the museum. Then she announced, “I’m a famous artist, you know.” 

    I thought, Seems unlikely you’d have to announce it in a restroom if you really were famous.

    Figuring she was joking I raised my eyebrows and said, “Infamous.” 

    She didn’t laugh as I intended but went on, “I’m 78. I can say I’m a famous artist. Who cares?” 

    I get it. Claim your power. Don’t let others define you.

    I smiled and we moved on to drying our hands by the paper towels.

    She told me she lived alone and can paint whenever she wants. How much she likes that. Then she said, “I’ve dated around, but my last husband was a psychopath and tried to kill me.” 

    Wait, what?!? I felt a bit of deer-in-the-headlights uncertainty but dismissed it. She’s a dramatic person. Probably exaggerating that, too. 

    We were still alone in the restroom. Wiser people might have said, “I’m so sorry” and left, but I was more intrigued than concerned. That plus ingrained Midwestern politeness kept me there. 

    “I met him a few years after my husband died of cancer. I was so devasted and lonely,” she said.

    “You were vulnerable.” 

    “He got mad one day when I told him he couldn’t sit around all day watching porn on his laptop. Then he threw the laptop at me, pushed me against the wall, and started choking me.”

    Oh, wow. That’s awful!  I nodded for her to continue. 

    “I got out of there and went to the police station. The next day I came back with the police. When they knocked, he opened the door thinking it was me. They took him to jail. Turns out he’d done this before. Preyed on women. Assaulted them. He had a record. He’s still in jail.”

    “You were lucky. I’m glad you’re OK.” 

    I became aware of how long I’d been in the restroom while my husband and friends waited outside, so I eased us toward the exit. To shift the conversation back to neutral chitchat, I admired the top she wore. We wished each other a good visit and I left.

    What’s the right thing to do in a moment like that? Was she lonely and simply needed to talk? To be seen? Did she consider her story to be a cautionary tale? And why did she share her story with me?

    I’ve shared plenty of personal stories in this blog, but they are chosen and crafted, not spontaneously blurted. I can’t imagine telling a stranger my worst experiences. Even when my husband and I sat in an OR waiting room in the middle of the night, while our son was in the midst of a six-hour emergency surgery, I didn’t go into detail about his accident or my fears to the other woman waiting with us. When it comes to my deepest feelings, I have a strong reserve.

    But I’ve learned sometimes your words or presence matter more than you realize. So, I listened to the woman in the restroom on the off chance I was in one of those moments. Was it? I’ll never know.