Sometimes I hate talking. I hate telling people about my life and giving them insight into who I am. Sometimes. Because sometimes it's easier to close off the world; without order and meaning in life you avoid an up-close look at things that might scare you.
And yet there is this sorta funky cool thing about telling stories and listening to them. It brings understanding. And clarity. And truth. And insight. And all the other things we need in order to make life be alive.
I get a lot of puzzled looks, furrowed brows, and questions of 'but why?' when I tell people I'm going to be a social worker. I think it comes back to this idea of telling stories. People have things to say, especially when they're in pain. They need to establish order and meaning so they can quit feeling so empty and miserable and confused all the time. And I want to be part of that. I want to ask them to tell me their stories and I want to help them make sense of what seems to be chaos around them.
1 comment:
I've often thought about going to a psychiatrist just because then I would have a paid BFF who won't ever judge me on the things I tell them and who has been trained to understand the inner workings of my mind.
But really, mostly because I really do love talking about myself. If someone would listen, I could tell stories and dumb jokes for days. But I don't tell a ton of people, because they are mostly things that matter to me and I'd rather not tell someone who doesn't care. Plus, I recognize that I could talk about myself for days, so I try more to listen to other people and let them talk, because I figure they want someone to listen and care just as badly as I do.
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