I have a theory that the days I begin with writing are the ones where I speak less. I don’t ramble in conversations, and maybe I make less time for them in the first place. It’s like this part of me that longs to be heard is fed in the morning, and I feel less of a need to open my mouth just to hear my own voice. Like in the same way that stretching in the morning means I’ll crack my knuckles less throughout the day, or having a big breakfast quells the need for constant snacking. I would like to think that inside of me is a wordometer, a subconscious fitbit that tracks how much I talk and tells me to shut up when I’ve spoken too much. What would that data look like? How would it compare to the people that I’m talking to? As a writer, a performer, a guy – I suspect that I jabber more often than I hold my tongue. It’s an unbecoming characteristic that makes me feel like I might be an asshole after I step out of meetings – if not because of what I said then how I said it, and if not because of how I said it because of how long-winded I was in saying it.
There are people in my life who seem automatically wiser to me, because of the amount of pause they’re able to hold before responding to someone in the conversation. For someone like me – reactive, talkative – these seem like eons when they’re really just a beat. But it’s that beat that seems to allow someone to be measured, say something that actually matters, and doesn’t just cut people off. Maybe that’s the heart of what I’m needing to feel generally like a better person – write more, pause longer, speak less, stop cutting people off. Seems as simple a goal as eating slower. What a life this is, where the most epic goals are also the simplest.