Talking is not the same as writing. But since more people talk than write, those of us who write have to adapt. So we try. When others take it upon themselves to try to communicate for us to someone just out of our reach at that time, everything we know--the already identified strength we possess to express ourselves well--is called into question. And suddenly it seems like the entire fabric of the universe has become unglued. Maybe it is just OUR fabric that becomes unglued, or more correctly--unraveled.
First, I have no idea what tone of voice or facial expressions are employed by the one doing the communicating on my behalf. Would the combination of these factors accurately represent me? The choice of words--a writer's pride and glory--seem to be casually tossed about and not obsessed over like a writer would do, leaving me to wonder EXACTLY which words were spoken. Are they the ones I would have chosen? Not bloody likely. But they are, nevertheless, an attempt to communicate and as a writer I know that to be a good thing. We writers try to hold onto the hope that maybe this is the time for a meeting of the minds, an enlightenment, a eureka moment. We somehow think this impossibility is likely, even though we are well aware that under the very best circumstances, it is not. We deceive ourselves again and again. But we are writers and we can't help it.
A debriefing between the writer who longed for a conversation and the person who actually got to experience a conversation, then becomes necessary. One needs to piece together moment by moment of the conversation one didn't get to have--an exchange of thoughts and ideas meant to resemble your own, though in the back of your mind you know it must have fallen short. The question you don't want to ask ultimately arises: was my message received or lost in the process? A positive best guess is, sure, yes, you were understood completely. You know that cannot possibly be true because even in the best of conditions that never happens. Ok, once in awhile, but very rarely. So the second best guess is, I don't know. And that is where the truth can be found or not found--in the great unknown universe of inferred meanings, looks that express more than a word ever could, and the ultimate resignation that it is as good as it is ever going to get so you may as well drop it.
Sometimes after a series of misunderstandings occur and I spend my time and energy thinking of how things may have happened differently, better, and that one chance for communicating something has passed and probably failed, I wonder if it would have been better to have remained silent.
First, I have no idea what tone of voice or facial expressions are employed by the one doing the communicating on my behalf. Would the combination of these factors accurately represent me? The choice of words--a writer's pride and glory--seem to be casually tossed about and not obsessed over like a writer would do, leaving me to wonder EXACTLY which words were spoken. Are they the ones I would have chosen? Not bloody likely. But they are, nevertheless, an attempt to communicate and as a writer I know that to be a good thing. We writers try to hold onto the hope that maybe this is the time for a meeting of the minds, an enlightenment, a eureka moment. We somehow think this impossibility is likely, even though we are well aware that under the very best circumstances, it is not. We deceive ourselves again and again. But we are writers and we can't help it.
A debriefing between the writer who longed for a conversation and the person who actually got to experience a conversation, then becomes necessary. One needs to piece together moment by moment of the conversation one didn't get to have--an exchange of thoughts and ideas meant to resemble your own, though in the back of your mind you know it must have fallen short. The question you don't want to ask ultimately arises: was my message received or lost in the process? A positive best guess is, sure, yes, you were understood completely. You know that cannot possibly be true because even in the best of conditions that never happens. Ok, once in awhile, but very rarely. So the second best guess is, I don't know. And that is where the truth can be found or not found--in the great unknown universe of inferred meanings, looks that express more than a word ever could, and the ultimate resignation that it is as good as it is ever going to get so you may as well drop it.
Sometimes after a series of misunderstandings occur and I spend my time and energy thinking of how things may have happened differently, better, and that one chance for communicating something has passed and probably failed, I wonder if it would have been better to have remained silent.
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