Since Wednesday, I’ve been struggling with a virus. Just when I think I’ve kicked it, it comes back. The worst part of this all is I’ve lost my voice. I have experienced aches and pains that leave me unable to focus, fever, sniffling and sneezing and coughs that make my throat feel like it’s being stabbed and then washed in rubbing alcohol, but the thing that kills me is my voice is gone. Some days it’s been just horse, somedays it has been a squeak, or gone completely. In any case, this is torture for an extrovert.
I never realized how much you use your voice before. To make a call, to make an appointment with the doctor, to have meetings, to collaborate with colleagues, to fellowship with friends, to order a meal, to communicate any preferences at all – I really need a voice.
Details are the first thing to go. It’s too much work to communicate anything with much subtlety. You turn to employing a sharp whistle to get people’s attention. Comedic timing is sadly right out of the question, something I discovered I want to use a lot in group settings but now cannot. You start noticing your expressions become exaggerated, and you feel like The Little Mermaid on land suddenly.
Things are going on in your head but you have no way to articulate it, leaving you feeling invisible.
It’s actually ironic that I’m reading a book called “Fierce Conversations” right now, all about mastering skills to create meaningful conversations. But conversation is a different beast now, all “listen” and no “talk”. Getting to know people in this state has been a fascinating challenge. Listen, listen, listen – ask for more elaboration on a topic, dig deeper, do more than bounce the ball of conversation back and forth, ala status quo. Make the questions count (since in my case it’s such a pain to express them).
I can’t wait for my voice to return, but it’s made me certainly consider how much listening versus talking I do, and also how lucky I am to have the things I take for granted – to hear, to be heard, to see, to move (and in so moving, dance!), to taste and touch and smell. All these things which add so richly to my life, yet I hardly think about until something is broken.
I guess it’s good for the soul to be temporarily reminded how much it hurts when good things are gone, so that we appreciate them when they are there.
