Say What You Mean and Mean What You Say

For all the talking that is being done, there doesn’t appear to be much communicating being accomplished.  All over the world (and yes, right here at home) we are all jibber jabbering away and not that nothing too totally titillating is being said (it is), it just seems that we are not expressing ourselves to the fullest or the “selective hearing” we are experiencing has hit an all time high.  The tête-à-tête has gone the way of being only one sided, which, of course, defeats the purpose.

The reason I can tell this phenomenon is occurring is whilst I am happily chattering away to folks, I will first notice the tilt of the head, then the slight furrowing of the brows and the undeniable un-focus and glaze that encompasses the eyes.  These people have no clue (or interest) in what I am saying (and I thought I sounded so clever).  It is obvious that I am not saying what I mean and I am not meaning what I say.  I have lost out again in my quest to intercourse with them before I hardly know them.  It appears my communication skills hold no candle to my yak-ability.

Even when I believe I am conveying and imparting weighty wisdom through my manifestation of babble, my love muffin, who has mastered “the look” of listening, appears confused and bewildered.  There have been more times than I can remember that I know I have, in great detail, given him honey-do’s, suggested vacation destinations, planned weekend events, etc. and he will feign ignorance.  It is though he hadn’t digested a word.  Either he had selectively heard me, or again, my communiqué dexterity is severely limited.

Another example of dreaded dialogue discourse is the not fully-ripened exchange between homeowner and delivery or service people.  An encounter, from a fellow Tae-Kwon-Do mom (similar to a soccer mom, but much more sassy), was relayed to me from her personal experience.

It started out innocently enough; she had called to find out when her dishwasher could be brought back to life.  They said, “Next Tuesday, anywhere from 8AM-5PM, would she be home?”  She said, “Would it be possible to pin-point a more precise time, say within an hour?”  They said, “No, but we can call after the stop that will precede yours”.  She quickly processed the proposed day and the gazillion errands that beckoned her.  She pondered the demands of her family and her house.  She thought about getting up, being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and out of her jammies by 8AM on a vacation day.  With a shudder and the thought of washing dishes, she said “yes”, she would be home… all day.

She waited and waited and then she waited some more.  The designated day came and went with nary a peep from her anticipated visitors.  Had she heard incorrectly?  Didn’t they say Tuesday?  She was willing to do her part to communicate.  With her beloved dishwasher still on the fritz, she initiated the call to find out where the service people had disappeared.  She was right, the repair shop said, the serviceman didn’t show up (duh!), they would reschedule.  And so they did, eventually, after a few more “discussions”, they even actually showed up.  You would think in this day and age we could figure out how to get a designated person to their designated spot at the designated time.  Even with the human error factored in, couldn’t we at least get it within a reasonable time period or at least proactively try to be in touch with the customer?

Communication had been bumbled, even when the words appeared clearly spoken.  There is obviously something lost in the translation from one’s mouth to the other’s brain.  Perhaps it would behoove us to think a bit more before our mouths open, and then maybe there would be a better chance of the other understanding what we are really trying to say.  It is a two-way street that, as a society (or a family or between friends and lovers) we need to work on before we can ever hope to live in real harmony.  Now, what were you saying before I so rudely digressed?

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-