But about two sentences into the piece, the most annoying thing happened. An internal monologue started, chatter which sounded something like this: "OMG. This essay is too long. I thought it was going so be shorter. It looked shorter on the page. People aren't going to want to hear what I have to say. I should have edited this piece. Maybe I can skip a few sentences. Hmm...which ones should I skip? Darn, I can't read and edit at the same time. Maybe I'll just skip a few words. It's so quiet in here. They must be bored. Why did I decide to do this in the first place? I am drawing too much attention to myself. My mother was right that I'm self-centered. When is this going to end? Should I apologize to them for talking too long? Phew, here's the last sentence."
You might be wondering, why would a woman who has three post-high school degrees, who was a spokesperson (in writing) for a major magazine, who has taught many hundreds of students over the years and written two excellent published articles about an English composer, why should such a woman be reduced to rubble when reading her own words aloud? Well, that's the point. I've tended to "succeed" when I use words to talk about history and current events and things outside myself. When I've talked about matters close to my own heart or tried to live in alignment to that heart, at least in the past, I have not been embraced. I think "The Chatter," bless it, has tried to protect me from hurt and other people's anger and abandonment. It has tried to keep me from the risk that comes from operating in integrity. Not to be melodramatic, but I think it has been trying to keep me alive.
But the chatter, on that day, also served another purpose: it distracted me in real time from the fact that my voice speaking into a microphone had power. Real. Authentic. Magnified. Power. My inner chatter has tried to keep that power under wraps, and it was working overtime as I broke through another barrier. As it turns out, a few people came up to me later to tell me how much my words had meant to them, so through some miracle my parallel inner agenda didn't completely dilute my words.
Dear "Chatter": thank you for the role you've played in trying to keep me safe and invisible. I know you meant well, and really, you did an excellent job. But it's time for you to retire, and for me as I approach 62 to really start my life's work. To do that, I must write from the heart, and my voice must freely speak and sing aloud. No hesitation, no agonizing self-doubt, and no apologies.
But the chatter, on that day, also served another purpose: it distracted me in real time from the fact that my voice speaking into a microphone had power. Real. Authentic. Magnified. Power. My inner chatter has tried to keep that power under wraps, and it was working overtime as I broke through another barrier. As it turns out, a few people came up to me later to tell me how much my words had meant to them, so through some miracle my parallel inner agenda didn't completely dilute my words.
Dear "Chatter": thank you for the role you've played in trying to keep me safe and invisible. I know you meant well, and really, you did an excellent job. But it's time for you to retire, and for me as I approach 62 to really start my life's work. To do that, I must write from the heart, and my voice must freely speak and sing aloud. No hesitation, no agonizing self-doubt, and no apologies.
