Inspired by Emily P. Freeman's recent podcast "Speak A Good Word," today I explore how our unique perspectives shape the words we choose.
Ten minutes into the conversation, things got spicy. We hadn’t spoken in six months; old friendships, like a slowly seasoned sauce, can handle a good kick.
“You vote democrat?” Her voice wavered slightly. “Bekah, socialism really scares me. It’s a philosophy of taking away people’s choice. Choice is why I love America. It’s why everyone loves America. Liberty!…. You really think socialism would work?”
“I guess when I think about our current capitalistic system, I don’t think about choice… When I hear capitalism, I think of systemic oppression.” I'd said these words before, but never to a republican voter...
“When I hear socialism, I think loss of freedom.”
“Interesting... Maybe I’m alone in this, but I don’t really know what socialism means, to be honest...”
“That’s fair.”
“Or capitalism.”
“Also fair.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t use words when we don’t really know what they mean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” We laughed, that simmering stock was sustaining us in our ignorance.
“So, instead of talking about capitalism and socialism, let’s talk about choice and inequality… that feels like a more productive conversation.”
“Agreed.”
One of my favorite thought experiments is this one:
1.
First, grab a blank piece of paper and a pen or pencil….I’ll wait.
2.
Draw a circle.
3.
This circle represents all knowledge. Omniscience. Now, color in the portion of universal knowledge that you, individually, know.
(Isn't it funny how the older we get, the more we shrink that dot?)
4.
Now, think of one specific person you care about and draw the portion of knowledge that they know (from your perspective). It’s smaller than yours, of course.
5.
Now consider a community you’re in. Your office. Your church. Your annual vacation crew. Let the black circle be “relevant knowledge” or “collective knowledge” within this community, for the sake of simplicity:
*Flashbacks to AP Biology emerge*
6.
Of course, these diagrams are ridiculous because our individual knowledge bases overlap. Really, our communities look like this:
Albeit, harder to draw…
Now, consider all the words you’ve interacted with today:
What have you read?
What have you heard?
What have you spoken?
What have you thought?
Now, using your drawings as a guide, ask the scary question:
When I say a word, what do others think of?
Cat.
(we're old school here- scroll down, please)
Easy. We’re on the same page.
Cats.
Oops. We’ve got some conflicting wave-lengths here.
Keep in mind, too, that knowledge is trifold:
cognitive, emotional, and physical.
Did some of you get a snuggly or aversive feeling when you read ‘cat’? Did you see an image of a cat in your mind? Did you imagine the three letters ‘c-a-t’? Did you think of other words that you associate with cats?
What comes into your awareness when you see this word?
Cheesecake
High school
Economics
Protection
Trump
God
I am not here to tell you what any of these words mean. I think to try would be ridiculous, in fact. Rather, I’m asking you to consider: what do these words mean to you? Because we communicate not from a dictionary but from our whole selves--our bodies, hearts, and minds. Our memories. Our relationships. Our cultures.
Because we communicate not from a dictionary but from our whole selves--our bodies, hearts, and minds. Our memories. Our relationships. Our cultures.
I’m beginning to think miscommunication is an unvoiced ache that many of us are grieving. Perhaps we’re using all the wrong words, and we’re moving so quickly that we don’t have time to re-visit, re-evaluate, and re-name.
Could it be that we’re just missing each other? All wanting similar things but just not communicating our desires well? Stifling our longings, afraid of their power, and speaking half-truths just to avoid facing the words we wish we had the courage to say?
It’s as if Flitter and Pip in Stellaluna were grappling with this, too:
“How can we speak so different and feel so much alike?” mused Flitter.
“And how can we feel so different and speak so much alike?” wondered Pip.
“I think this is quite a mystery.” Flap chirped.
“I agree,” said Stellaluna. “But we’re friends. And that’s a fact.”
(text was adapted for clarity)
Could it be that we’re just missing each other? Stifling our longings, afraid of their power, and speaking half-truths just to avoid facing the words we wish we had the courage to say?
Maybe naming things correctly matters. Maybe there’s something powerful and important to finding the right words. And maybe none of us knows all the right words all the time.
Personally, my words often resemble groping in the dark for the light switch more than they do well-lit constructive creation. Maybe we long for leaders to deliver enlightened, intentional words, as we forage for our own. Maybe listening is more about asking questions to guide the speaker to better, truer words, than it is responding with enticing reactions.
What is communication, anyway, without a back-and-forth?
What are you using your words for today?
Communication?
Connection?
Control?
Coercion?
Camouflage?
As you navigate your day of words, here are a few tips to help you remember your knowledge isn't necessarily your coworkers':
It's a wording day ahead!
Here are three kindly guides as you listen and respond:
1. Admit your ignorance.
"I haven't heard of that before. What's _____?"
2. Ask for clarification.
"Can you give me an example? / In what way? / How so?"
3. Repeat.
"What I'm hearing you say is _____."
Flexibility speaks louder than words.
In closing, I leave you with Langston Hughes’ words as he confronts America’s interconnected knowledge and his own identity:
The instructor said,
“Go home, and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.”
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
To this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
Through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
The Harlem Branch Y, here I take the elevator
Up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
Be we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
Although you’re older--and white--
And somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
--- Langston Hughes (1902--1967)