Speak Less
As a writer, I can tell you that I have learned my father was right all along. When I was a little girl, he, as the child of very poor immigrants, told me education was everything. It was your ticket to the American Dream. And if you can write well, you can do anything. He encouraged me to be a writer.
Over the years, I learned the power of words. If something horrible happened on a plane trip or in a restaurant--poor service of an astounding degree--I wrote a letter to the CEO and got my money back. The power of words.
When my children had some kind of difficulty in our nation's overstressed schools--bullies, bad textbooks, teachers who brought their politics to the classroom during the last election or over this horrendous war, or brought religion in where it shouldn't be--I wrote a letter. And the principals in question responded and corrected things.
The pen is mightier than the sword. My father's point was proved to me over and over and over.
I saw that my ability to speak well served me in hospitals as I advocated for sick family members. It affected people's perceptions of who I was. It got me results when I needed them.
But my father and mother didn't think education was all about a college degree. I had to read the NY Times on Sunday. I did crossword puzzles. Instead of Nancy Drew, like I ASKED for, my Dad gave me, in fourth grade, an unabridged collection of Sherlock Holmes. ("Now THIS is a detective," he said.) I was gifted with books for every occasion. A Tale of Two Cities when I got my tonsils out to read during recovery. David Copperfield. Words took me places. To this day, I read the NY Times every day . . . I feel a nearly obsessive need for knowledge and to be informed.
Which brings me to my post. If the pen is mightier than the sword, then I have also learned how words can inflict horrible pain. Yes, they're only words, but they have the ability to wound. Buddhists try to live mindfully. We try to speak LESS and think more. Think before we speak. Pause. Be mindful. This year, I have walked away from more political arguments, comments meant to incite me, than I ever have before. I don't have to be right. I can keep the words inside me.
Of course, this has trickled down to my writing. Each word counts. Every word is necessary.
How about you . . . how have you learned the power of words?
Over the years, I learned the power of words. If something horrible happened on a plane trip or in a restaurant--poor service of an astounding degree--I wrote a letter to the CEO and got my money back. The power of words.
When my children had some kind of difficulty in our nation's overstressed schools--bullies, bad textbooks, teachers who brought their politics to the classroom during the last election or over this horrendous war, or brought religion in where it shouldn't be--I wrote a letter. And the principals in question responded and corrected things.
The pen is mightier than the sword. My father's point was proved to me over and over and over.
I saw that my ability to speak well served me in hospitals as I advocated for sick family members. It affected people's perceptions of who I was. It got me results when I needed them.
But my father and mother didn't think education was all about a college degree. I had to read the NY Times on Sunday. I did crossword puzzles. Instead of Nancy Drew, like I ASKED for, my Dad gave me, in fourth grade, an unabridged collection of Sherlock Holmes. ("Now THIS is a detective," he said.) I was gifted with books for every occasion. A Tale of Two Cities when I got my tonsils out to read during recovery. David Copperfield. Words took me places. To this day, I read the NY Times every day . . . I feel a nearly obsessive need for knowledge and to be informed.
Which brings me to my post. If the pen is mightier than the sword, then I have also learned how words can inflict horrible pain. Yes, they're only words, but they have the ability to wound. Buddhists try to live mindfully. We try to speak LESS and think more. Think before we speak. Pause. Be mindful. This year, I have walked away from more political arguments, comments meant to incite me, than I ever have before. I don't have to be right. I can keep the words inside me.
Of course, this has trickled down to my writing. Each word counts. Every word is necessary.
How about you . . . how have you learned the power of words?
posted by Erica Orloff at 7:06 AM
8 Comments:
Oh, yeah. Words are extremely powerful, because they convey ideas.
I started reading Man's Search For Meaning last night, and felt angry and sad and repulsed at the same time. It's not easy for a writer to do that to me, because I've been somewhat desensitized to the horrors of the human condition with the work I do. But that's the best compliment to a writer, IMO, that their words evoked an emotional response.
Hi Jude:
That book is truly an astounding work--not only because of his sotry, but the clarity with which he writes.
E
Hi Erica...just blogging around and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Happy Holidays, Dorothy!
E
like you i've felt both the joy and the pain of words. so yes, i absolutely get that words have power. and maybe that's what i love about them so much. they pack a lot of punch.
started reading your blog the other day, i forget how i found it. anyway, great stuff here!
Thanks, Heather!
Happy Holidays!
E
This year has been a year of learning to speak up. I always saved my rants for the pen but then one day I thought, what if I die and my husband reads all this stuff I wrote in anger? So I've learned to swallow my fear and speak up gently, but firmly. Words can blow things up into smithereens but they can also build bridges.
mary:
I, too, have learned the power of honesty without rage.
E
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