Think before you speak
The other day somebody at my church complemented me on my hair. Her exact words? "Have you done something different with your hair? It looks so good, kind of glowing."
Full disclosure here, I'm not an inherently vain person. In fact, my husband has more fashion sense in his left ankle bone than I do in my entire body. I go to him for fashion advice and honest answers about a new hair color or style I'm trying out.
However, after having carried and birthed three children, when somebody pays me a compliment of any kind on my appearance I am deeply grateful. Embarrassingly grateful. Like I-might-hug-you-and-call-you-best-friend-for-life grateful.
And then I answered her question with, "I don't wash my hair anymore." She smiled bravely, mumbled something about it seeming to work for me, and then took off out of the room leaving a wake of swirling paper and leaves behind her. What I meant to say was "I don't use as much shampoo as I used to anymore."
Kind of wish I would have remembered that.
My mother used to tell me think through things before I respond to people. Consider my words and how they will be received or understood. It became an obsession. I would consider every possible way to say things and a love of words and how to use them was born.
I became and still am a somewhat competent public speaker and have a passion for the written word. When I write, things don't ever really get finished because I'm constantly re-writing and considering how to make a sentence understood better. My greatest fear, no joke, is being misunderstood. As long as I have plenty of time to consider them, my thoughts usually make sense.
It's when I'm forced to say something impromptu or last second that things get out of hand. Try as I might to think through things before I say them, I'm not always successful. Speaking on the fly, even just one-on-one usually includes at least one blank stare and uncomfortable silence in response to something that flew out of my mouth unawares.
It's a gift, I tell you. A gift.
But here's the deal. Those I love. Close friends and family. They know this about me. And those people, my people, they love me through it. In fact, sometimes, they find it amusing. Most times, just uncomfortable. But sometimes amusing.
Even my weirdness is loved. Thanks, Mom.
Full disclosure here, I'm not an inherently vain person. In fact, my husband has more fashion sense in his left ankle bone than I do in my entire body. I go to him for fashion advice and honest answers about a new hair color or style I'm trying out.
However, after having carried and birthed three children, when somebody pays me a compliment of any kind on my appearance I am deeply grateful. Embarrassingly grateful. Like I-might-hug-you-and-call-you-best-friend-for-life grateful.
And then I answered her question with, "I don't wash my hair anymore." She smiled bravely, mumbled something about it seeming to work for me, and then took off out of the room leaving a wake of swirling paper and leaves behind her. What I meant to say was "I don't use as much shampoo as I used to anymore."
Kind of wish I would have remembered that.
My mother used to tell me think through things before I respond to people. Consider my words and how they will be received or understood. It became an obsession. I would consider every possible way to say things and a love of words and how to use them was born.
I became and still am a somewhat competent public speaker and have a passion for the written word. When I write, things don't ever really get finished because I'm constantly re-writing and considering how to make a sentence understood better. My greatest fear, no joke, is being misunderstood. As long as I have plenty of time to consider them, my thoughts usually make sense.
It's when I'm forced to say something impromptu or last second that things get out of hand. Try as I might to think through things before I say them, I'm not always successful. Speaking on the fly, even just one-on-one usually includes at least one blank stare and uncomfortable silence in response to something that flew out of my mouth unawares.
It's a gift, I tell you. A gift.
But here's the deal. Those I love. Close friends and family. They know this about me. And those people, my people, they love me through it. In fact, sometimes, they find it amusing. Most times, just uncomfortable. But sometimes amusing.
Even my weirdness is loved. Thanks, Mom.
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