Unsaid

I used to think I was a good communicator.Sure I’d be the first to admit I talk better than I listen. But I listen more carefully than you might think.

The linguist in me hears the words you choose, and the weight of history and association behind them. The counsellor in me knows that at some level you chose those words, rather than other words, for a reason. The musician in me hears the rhythm and pace, the tone and inflection, the cadences in your voice. The consultant in me watches your body language, the correlation or conflict between the words you say and the way you feel.

So why do I find it so hard to get other people to understand me? I should be able to do this easily. Indeed in several languages. Yet I struggle to express myself. Often I feel that, sitting in the other chair, there is an invisible scrambler hanging in mid air. I say one thing, something happens in the space, and a different message is heard.

Sometimes I chatter about little stuff because I don’t know how to talk about the big stuff.

Sometimes it’s the things people don’t say that really count.

Sometimes a touch or a look or an action is worth more than a thousand words. It’s the unsaid things in the silence that you should listen out for.