You have the right to remain silent...

You have the right to remain silent.  Ah, but we don’t, do we?  We are compelled to talk, to relate, to narrate, to dictate, to gossip, to speculate, to whisper and shout and share.  Even those of us who say we don’t, do.  How can we not?  Even if we don’t talk out loud, the words come out in other ways – we write, we ‘chat’, we tweet, we sing, we chunter, we rant and rage or whine and whimper.  We talk to ourselves. We talk in our sleep. 

And last night I read this passage (from Your Face Tomorrow by Javier Marias) and it made me smile.

‘If you stop each night to think about what has been told or recounted to you during the day by the many or few people with whom you have spoken…you will see how rare it is ever to hear anything of real value or interest or discernment… Almost everything that everyone says and communicates is humbug or padding superfluous, commonplace, dull, interchangeable and trite, however much we feel it to be ‘ours’ and however much people ‘feel the need to express themselves’…  Talking is probably the biggest waste of time amongst the population as a whole, regardless of age, sex, class, wealth or knowledge, it is a wastage par excellence. ‘  [Itals my own.]

Yet still it seems we need to talk.  And mainly we need to talk about ourselves.  Rare are the listeners; even rarer are the askers of questions.   I remember once, years back, talking to this guy, a friend’s boyfriend.  Or rather he talked, and talked and talked and talked.  And it became a game.  How long could we go on with him not asking me one single question.  Answer?  Four hours.  Yup, I gave him the occasional prompt and off he went.   I should have charged him – shrink's rates.  J

Is listening a skill?  It certainly helped me become a relatively successful journalist.  Some might say it makes me a good friend.  The key is really to listen – not just to pretend while waiting impatiently to add your own anecdote or feeling.  Most people play verbal ping pong.  But then again, listening can be a defence mechanism – being a good listener is a great way to avoid talking.  And I feel uncomfortable talking about myself.  Because, really, what is there to say?   Who cares about my opinions?  I don't even care about my opinions that  much.   What business is it of mine what other people do, say; how they behave?  If my words can help or soothe in any way, then they’re worth it.  But they’re just words.  What use are they, really?  If, instead of offering words, I could wipe away pain and sickness; if I could take away sadness and indifference; if I could write large cheques and bestow largesse, then that might be worthwhile, huh?  But I’m helpless – so I offer words.

Anyhow.  See…even I (who love silence) am not immune.  I spew out words on this blog.  It’s one way of talking without being interrupted (*smile*).  Of course you don’t have to listen; nobody does.  That is the really good thing about this kind of verbiage – it’s easily switched off.   J 

Why do we talk?  Obviously it is useful – on a practical and evolutionary level.  But why do we feel the need to express ourselves?  Why do we need to be heard, to be understood?  Is it ego?  Is it all just ego?  I did a cursory search online to find out ‘why people talk’ but drew a blank – or rather I drew an awful lot of people…talking and not listening.  J

What do I think?  What do I know?   Don’t you love the ambiguity of that phrase?  Let me italicise the I to add some emphasis, to make the nuance clear. What do I know?  I guess sometimes we talk purely for comfort – against the cold, against the sheer nothingless, against oblivion.  Chitchat, the murmuring of words, shared laughter, the everyday, the inanity even, soothes like a warm bath, like the burn of brandy down the throat.  We know that ultimately we’re all alone but talking, with the right people, those who we feel *get* us, dispels the cold - just for a little while.  It’s like an inferior form of holding. 

And not everything is dross or commonplace or trite.  Sometimes someone says something that stops you in your tracks.  That makes you go ‘Oh’ and then sometimes ‘yes’.  And not just because you have the urge to go ‘Oh yes, me too,’ and then launch into your own anecdote or diatribe, but because it makes you want to go away and ponder quietly.  And I guess that’s why I don’t vanish into silence entirely.  And I guess that’s why I continue chuntering into the void because, every so often, someone says something in response to my inanity that …chimes. 

Anyhow. How about you?  Talker? Listener?  Any idea why we, as a species, have the talk urge?  

What should you teach your child?

And my third (or is it fourth?) night without sleep. It’s getting insane, it really is. But I realised I couldn’t do anything about it so I meditated (which some say is equivalent to sleep) and worked on fixing my back. When 6am came round, I wouldn’t say I bounced out of bed but the stabbing pains in my back had vanished and I felt a curious clarity.

There’s a different dynamic in the house when Adrian’s away. James came into my room and said he had a suggestion for the problem of the Arctic Cryochamber Breakfast Room.

‘Wear your dressing gown,’ he opined. ‘Over your clothes.’

I had to laugh. He was standing, in school uniform with a long dressing gown knotted round his waist; trousers tucked into thick socks and a pair of ankle-high furry slippers.
So I followed suit and we had breakfast looking like a rum old pair of Noel Cowards.
James switched the radio from Adrian’s beloved Radio 4 to Radio One and we danced with the dogs to the Black Eyed Peas and shook with laughter and lost track of time and nearly missed the bus.

Once again, the SP and I went over the bridge and up the hill. Shrouded in mist; fine soft kisses of moisture on the air. But the path was slick and I felt my feet slide under me. So I followed the SP up the steep rocky path, through the trees, up, up, up, feeling lighter with every step. No wulfas; no beasts at all; just bird song, rustle and footfall. To the hill fort, the fastness, surrounded by ancient ghosts and then down the steep passage known as the Chimney.

Careful walking. Walking as thoughtfulness. Thinking, thinking. Mainly about my son, my lovely son – and the man he will become. It made me ponder the principles I hope I have offered him.

I don’t believe we should inflict our ideas, our beliefs on our children. But I do think we can offer up suggestions, thoughts, possibilities. When I thought about what I would like James to take through life with him, I came down to these...

1. To your own self be true. The stormy search for the self starts young and it can be a hard path. I like to think James has enough self-esteem and self-belief that he does not need to follow the herd. That he can make his own decisions; be his own person; be happy in his skin.

2. Be independent. It’s not just practical, this one (although James is learning to cook, to clean, to wash clothes and iron them; to have responsibility for animals and his own stuff – why, oh why, do people not teach their boys this stuff?). It’s about being self-sufficient; about taking responsibility for oneself.

3. Be honest but also kind. This is about discrimination and it’s a fine line for children to learn. If your self-esteem is strong enough, there is no need to put other people down. Yes, some people are hugely irritating; bombastic; stupid; plain revolting. But hey...who are we to tell them? And that leads on to...

4. Stand up to bullies and stick up for the underdog. People who bully do so from fear, from lack of self-esteem. This chimed with James and now he stands his ground. He also stands between the bully and the bullied, even when it means going against the crowd – and for that, I am so proud of my young knight.

5. Communicate. Honestly, this is so fundamental – not just to children but to everyone. Nearly every question I answer (in my dubious role of agony aunt) comes down to this. Talk. Say what you mean. Don’t expect another person to intuit your meaning. I go over this time and again with James. He – like so many of us - imagines slights that probably aren’t there; is over-sensitive; gets the wrong end of the stick.

6. Confront your fears. Fear is the biggie; the one thing that so often stops us from achieving our potential; from being who we want to be. But, once you confront a fear, stare it straight in the eye, it often backs right down. James learned his lesson on this a few years back when he was picked for a county cricket training. Nobody he knew was there and he baulked. He’s regretted it ever since. It’s not just the physical fear either (though I must say jumping off a mountain blows away a bit of that) but psychic fear too. I have taught James how to confront his nightmares; to stand up to the monsters and ask them what they have to show him (monster comes from the Latin verb, monstrare – to show, reveal).

7. Question your thoughts. Thought can deceive. Thought can lie. Thought jumps to conclusions; turns simple dilemmas into catastrophe. ‘I got a C for English. I’m rubbish.’ ‘He looked at me funny; he hates me.’ Negative thoughts are your ego acting out of fear. Okay, so you don't need to go into that with your child but, well, you get my drift...

8. Open your heart. Ah, this is a tough one to teach a child on the verge of teenagedom as you know it will bring heartache as well as joy. But, truly, hearts are made to love. I have no doubt James’s will be broken, probably many times. But, the heart is a muscle, a spiritual as well as a physical muscle – and without breaking, it does not grow. There is huge healing and transformation in unconditional love - yes, even to those you consider enemies.  I would point out that James isn’t totally convinced on this one yet

9. Have a sense of humour. Truly, the world hates a sourpuss.

10. Know when to shut up. :-)


Sorry. Longer post than intended.
What have I missed?
What do you hope to impart to your children?
How much should we impose our thoughts and beliefs on our children?



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