The Power to Act

The times they are a changing! There is something new afoot welling up inside of me.  For over a year now I’ve physically felt tides pulling the sands out from under my feet, leaving me unsteady and off balance in conversations.  There were clues along the way that things were changing. I would leave meetings with friends feeling depleted and hollow, rather than nourished and up-lifted.  It would convenient to say that it has everything to do with the people I’ve been in conversation with, but that is not the case.  There is nothing wrong with them at all; they are brilliant and caring!  It has everything to do with me and how I’ve historically shown up in relationships.  What I do know is that what worked in the past is no longer working for me! How do I know?   The emptiness I feel in my body and a mood of resentment that has started to creep into my consciousness.

I recall a similar shift that happened when I was in my forties.  Being newly widowed, I realized that every time I went to dinner with my girlfriends the conversation of laundry detergent or some similar household product would come up.  Once I realized it was not going away, I got annoyed.   Was this a new conversation or was I just recognizing it for the first time. If we’ve always talked about it, why hadn’t I noticed it before?  Was there a relationship between the change in my marital status and the type of conversations I could tolerate?  Had the level of conversation settled on the safe and mundane or was I more critical? After a few months of it I asked that the subject be declared out of bounds; they were surprised.  When the same type of conversation persisted, I realized that those relationships had run their course.  Growth was to ask for what I needed and then, when I knew it was beyond them, to let those relationships die an honorable death.  But what I am experiencing today is something altogether different.  It isn’t that my life situation has changed; it is that I am changing.

How do I know that things are changing?  Over the past year, I’ve become increasingly aware that I’ve walked away from some conversations realizing that the person I was in conversation with never asked about me.  Lately I’ve moved from annoyance to agitation.  Once aware, I would sit there to see if they would ask questions about my life that was deeper than a meaningless ‘how are you doing?’  That type of inquiry leaves me feeling starved for connection, since the only appropriate response is a monosyllabic ‘fine!’

I’m not talking about prying questions, although on good days, I’m open to them also.  A simple question like “What’s going on in your life?” is a good place to start.  At least I can’t answer it with a yes or no. “What makes you happy (sad, glad, mad)?” They allow me to share some part of me.  Questions such as “Where is fear in your life?  What your deepest desire?” may be too intimate to share at a cocktail party, but have their place in important intimate conversations. I want to walk away from a conversation knowing that the other person cares enough to get to know me.  Is that too much to ask for? Or is it?  Is it their problem or is it mine?

Before you think of me as being unskilled in conversations, let me assure you that my skills are part of my challenge.  I’m good at inquiry and adept at keeping others talking.  I never realized how good I was at it until I finally met someone who was a lot like me. She grilled me!  Okay, it really wasn’t that bad, but I felt exposed; I couldn’t get myself off the hook.  Every time I tried to shift the conversation back to her, she rejected the parry and returned the ball with a well placed inquiry.  I felt both frightened to be on center stage, yet energized by the exposure. What was I afraid of?  Why the unconscious drive to deflect the attention from myself?

There are two different reasons to ask questions.  One is that I am really curious about what is going on.  When I ask questions with that intention, I sit forward and listen intently.  I’m engrossed in what is being said and what is not being said.  I pay attention to the others body, language, moods and emotions.  Like a tall glass of clean clear water, I take it all in and we are both refreshed in the process.

The second less obvious reason for my asking questions is defensive in nature; I get to control the conversation and hide out.  As a child and as an introvert, I’ve often felt inadequate verbally. I grew up with lots of extroverted siblings who knew what they wanted and needed and they were a lot more vocally adept than me.  I learned to pull back and circle the proverbial wagons to protect my tender underbelly.  Over the years, I’ve found my voice and learned to readily use it. Still there are times in conversations when, unaware, I revert to the comfort of my childhood defense mechanism; when I used inquiry as a way of hiding out and being safe. But is that response appropriate for me today?

When I’m in the defensive mode the questions I ask may be just as good, but my personal presence is lacking.  There is part of me that is emotionally unavailable; that is pulled back and protected.  It is like I’ve listened with one ear and my eyes saw no evil. Physically I may be pulling back or at least defended with my arms crossed over my belly.  I can’t imagine that it is a good experience for the person in front of me.   How can that type of inquiry be nourishing when only scraps are being served!

I’m no longer interested in pulling back from conversations with people I truly care about or hiding behind my questions.   I’m delighted to share my skills of inquiry with friends, but not without reciprocal care. Today I intend to show up fully suited and ready to play a team sport; to be fully present to anyone who is in front of me or beg out of the game all together. The challenge is that I will need to be proactive in laying out the new ground rules.  I can’t expect people I’ve trained to talk to me, by asking so many probing questions; know now to ask about me. That’s not fair.  I’ll need to be more forthright in communicating my needs, or better yet, I’ll simply tell them what I’m up to!

As I write I feel the tide lifting me up and I’m energized.  The shifting sands of healthy communications have found a balance point between asking and sharing.  I feel secure in my footing and solid in my presence—a new part of me is emerging from the shadow and stepping into the light and it feels so very authentic!

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