I’ve always been a rapid-fire communicator. I think fast, talk fast, and process my thoughts out loud. When I was in high school, my mother once dared me to talk for two minutes straight without a single pause. “Time me,” I said, and then I did it. 120 seconds of babbling about nothing without a moment’s hesitation.
Several years ago, I met a new friend who is much more deliberate in her conversation. At first, I wasn’t sure she liked me. I’d talk, and she’d sit in silence and smile slightly. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Was she studying me? Had I said something stupid? Had I failed to make my points clear? In case it was the latter, I’d repeat myself often. But she would just continue to smile. Eventually she’d comment. In time, I came to realize she was comfortable with long pauses. I was not. Never have been. A pause is a hole. It’s dangerous. It’s something to be filled.
This came up recently in a disagreement with someone close to me. I rushed in with suggestions and solutions. I asked questions to try to see how I could help, but I didn’t wait long enough to hear the complete answers. I shared my feelings, and when this person did not share their feelings back, I assumed they thought I was wrong. It’s funny, isn’t it, that someone who communicates for a living could, at times, be a terrible communicator.
