I have noticed something about myself this past year. I am a good listener. People have told me this for a while and I know it's true. I like to listen. I think that might be why I was drawn to transcription as a career. But I also enjoy getting to know people and their concerns and happiness. Interesting conversation is one of my favorite things. It can be an old friend, a stranger, an adult or child, I just love interacting with people. I find myself a lot less reserved, more willing to make random conversation in the grocery store line, the library, the park, anywhere.
However, there is a point where listening is not what I want to do. I want to talk. I have something to say just like everyone else, but it seems I have trained those around me to just talk to me and not listen to me. Or if I do venture into sharing some aspect of my life, too quickly the conversation turns to their own issues and mine will be left unanswered. Okay. I have adapted to this and I think that's why I seek out this blog, just to vent, let out random thoughts and information into the void.
I think, too, this has made me a more private person. I am so hesitant to share my dreams and feelings. One of my very best friends told me once that I am "such a private person" and I realized she was right. But I didn't know how I got that way because I don't remember always being like this. When I was younger, I talked all the time about myself. I am discovering that some of my closest friends don't know about all the things I want to do in life, things I keep close to my heart. I think this should change. I love to talk. I love to have deep conversations about writing and books and politics or sports, but very rarely do I get the opportunity to exchange ideas with someone on anything but a superficial level.
Today was one of those days where I listened all day. I think my friend was talking to me before she even got out of her van. I think she didn't take a breath for four hours. I could feel words inside me, wanting to escape, but instead being pushed down. Pooling in my toes, filling to my knees, swelling to my navel, and lodging in my throat, unspoken. Words are curious things. Unspoken words are burdensome things.