On Being Heard…

“Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person they are almost indistinguishable.” (David W. Augsburger)

Tonight, I had the pleasure of attending a writing workshop put on by the Arts Council. I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking, and really, I guess that I wasn’t, because I never considered writers as artists. But writers are artists and are part of the Arts Council. Thus, I am now a member of the Arts Council. I’m not entirely sure why I signed up, however, I do know that I am a writer. For the time being, it might be just via this little blog o’ mine, but I am a writer. Therefore, I made a decision tonight to act like a writer and so I was presented with the opportunity to be involved with a group of other writers and artists and I seized it.

The workshop this month was on finding your voice. Prior to the workshop, I wasn’t sure what voice actually was, however, I wasn’t sure if I had yet found mine. I know that I’m loud and I know that I use my voice, but when it came to writing style, I was lost. It’s also blatantly obvious by the lack of activity on my blog that I have been very quiet here of late. My thought process was that perhaps by attending tonight, I could attempt to get back what I so desperately miss… writing.

I was right! (I love it when that happens!)

There were several writing exercises that we did and I could feel it. When I left there, I wanted to rush home and pound away on my keyboard. I wanted to share with anyone who would listen what the lady said to me, what she thought about my writing. I left there with a sense of pride, a direction, and a bolster of confidence.

It was a good feeling. While I was a little leery of asking the boy to entertain the children for me this evening so that I could attend, I’m glad that I did.

Well, I really didn’t have a choice about tonight. I was told that I HAD to go. There was no option. He told me that I needed to go. So, I did.

Upon departing the Center in the Square, taking in the cool air as I walked to my car, I called to check in on the kids. They were in the back yard playing ball and although I was asked how my class went, and although I responded, I’m not sure that I was heard.

Let me state, before I go any further, that I am not upset by the events that took place tonight, rather realized where some of this is coming from.

If you’re not aware of how hard it is to have a conversation with someone while they are attempting to catch balls, referee, and make sure that all the kids are present and accounted for, let me clue you in. It’s not that easy. Yet, even though we know we’re not providing undivided attention to the person on the other end of the phone, we continue to hold conversations. Sometimes I wonder why I even have a mobile phone as the things that I want to say when I’m on the phone, I can’t until I get home. I might as well wait until I get there anyway.

Regardless, I know that he truly WANTED to listen to me. I know that he WANTED to hear the things that I learned and the things that I discovered. I know that in my heart of hearts. I was bubbling with excitement when I hit the speed dial button for the boy. I couldn’t wait to tell him. And I KNEW as soon as I heard all the kids out in the yard the way that this would go down.

Yet?

I still attempted to have this conversation with him.

May I remind you of the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.

Guess I can’t change my blog title yet, can I?

Regardless, I pulled into his driveway to collect my half of the children and he was waiting for me. I asked him if he wanted to hear what I wrote and he sincerely responded, yes. The boy is great about reading my writing. He knows that it’s important to me and he supports it; he takes an interest and so I whipped out my papers (can you believe I went to this workshop with no paper? I couldn’t believe it. How unprepared was I? I had to use the back of some papers that I had brought home from work.)

No sooner did I start to read my character sketch, out came one of the kids and demanded his attention. “Can you give me 5 minutes, hon?”

“Sure thing,” I replied and I gathered up my manilla folder filled with my work papers and my writing and headed into his house. I was excited to share with him, but I knew that the kids needed/wanted him.

I puttered around a bit, cleaning up the remaining dinner dishes, helping with baths and bedtime and several times I could see him attempting to come and hear what I had written, yet, each time he was sidetracked by a small child or the box of transformers that were his as a child.

I know. I know. The original transformer toys are way cool… much cooler than my writing. I’ll agree.

So I moved on and sat down to look at some of the catalogs that had come in the mail. Circling things with a black sharpie while he put his kids to bed and just waiting patiently for him to have 5 minutes. I thought for sure I would be able to talk to him while Sam was watching her show, but alas… she wanted him to watch it with her.

He came out on a commercial, but Sam was on his heels and I didn’t want to share in front of her. At the age of 9, we have the ability to take something that was written in jest or a work of fiction, make it true, and have it spread throughout the neighborhood within 24 hours. I’ve learned the hard way.

It was during all of this time that I realized why I love to write and why it bothers me when I can’t. I actually twittered it because I was so astonished by my discovery.

I just realize that I write because it gives me the illusion that I’m being heard; that someone, anyone is listening to me.

Quite honestly, I’m proof positive that it’s a driving force behind Twitter as well. When I write on my blog, or post a Tweet, I believe that people are listening to what I have to say. There are no visible interruptions to what I have to say. I’m speaking my mind and my audience is hearing me.

Does this make any sense at all?

Please don’t get me wrong… I don’t want anyone to think that I am ungrateful or for the boy to think that I’m being neglected;that’s not the case at all. The kids are more important and I have to be honest…

I have a guy who loves my children as his own. I have children who love the man that I do. I know how fortunate that I am in that regard that they have the bond that they do. I know this.

But tonight, I just wanted to be heard. And I wasn’t being very patient about it. Therefore, I realized this is my outlet. Here is where I am heard, whether I’m actually being heard or just talking to myself. It doesn’t matter. I’m being heard and it’s almost instantaneous.

So until the last child has left the nest, I’m going to have to deal with this and I’m okay with it. I’m just going to keep writing…

Because I’m a writer. Because I love writing. Because I want to be heard.

Thank you for listening.

Until next time…