A Cliche In The Hand Is Worth Nothing In the Bush

I've been told that I can be frustrating to talk to. I've been told I rarely answer questions the way I am expected to. 

When I was little, my mother would tell people that I march to the beat of my own drum. She was mostly right except for I am the drum, I am the DJ, I am the whole dang band. I came here to shake this party up. To provoke, to challenge, to inspire.

I feel like it's important to stay true to who I am. To be honest. Sometimes when I answer a question, the asker's face knots up. Or their eyebrows lift into surprised question marks. Some stay and banter. But way too many excuse themselves. They leave the conversation that they started and I'm left wondering, if you knew what you wanted to hear, if you thought you knew the answer I was going to give, why did you ask the question in the first place? 

I guess talking to me can be kind of frustrating. I'm blunt. I'm to the point. And while some people enjoy that kind of thing and will engage with me, there are others who don't. I tell stories that start as an adventure and end in a life lesson, but I love a good punchline as much as the next guy. Unfortunately, I have learned that my way is not everyone's way.

One afternoon, I was hanging out at a mom-friend's house when her sister-in-law stopped by. My friend let her in, but before she could say hi, her sister-in-law's eyes went right to my friend's hip. She unzipped her jacket and spoke in one fluid motion, "Where's the baby?", as if one action could not exist without the other. Then, she looked around, like she was trying to help my friend find the baby so she could be whole again. As if without the baby, she was unfit to entertain. As if moms have nothing interesting to talk about if a story doesn't start with diapers and end in spit up.

My friend answered, "He's taking a nap."

I watched. It seemed as if the whole thing was scripted:

Scene 1:  <Visitor distributes the obligatory hello hug while speaking> "Will he sleep tonight?"

I have heard this conversation many times. I've been part of this act; the weary mom, dressed in my barf stained t-shirt, just trying to grab a moment or two of normalcy, of something that belongs to me the person, not me the mom.  I wish more for my friend, even though I know better. Even though I have lived every line of this same scene.

Something in me took over. It probably stemmed from a connection only us exhausted mothers know. I needed to save my friend. Less than five minutes before her sister-in-law arrived, she had confessed that she needed to go back to work. That she missed her job and Friday night happy hours. Not conversations like the one her sister-in-law was dragging her into. So, I yelled from the couch, "No. Of course he won't sleep tonight, but she knew that when she put him down. She told me that she's trying to create a new group of humans. Ones who don't sleep at night. Just to shake things up. She said she's gonna start with this kid and then any babies after this one will be the same way. Then, their kids and grandkids won't sleep at night either."

I paused for the sister-in-law's reaction. Is she mad? Is she confused? Who cares? Keep going, it's funny! "I think she can do it. I mean, look at her. Clearly, she doesn't need any sleep at all, otherwise, how could she possibly pull off such a grand plan?"

Did I need to be snarky? Maybe not. Did it change the conversation and make the visit a lot more fun? You better believe it did. Would the other person think twice before sleepwalking through a conversation again? I hope so.

She asked a mom this question. This mom who has her hands free. HER HANDS ARE FREE! She is not nursing or making bottles or changing diapers or giving baths or holding anyone in her lap. She is not listening to babbling and she is not baby talking back to her kid. She will multitask at bedtime tonight, because that's what moms do. She will fall into her bed while praying that her child sleeps through the night—because whether he naps in the afternoon or not, this kid is still adjusting to being on the outside of a warm belly, and he doesn't care what any of us think or expect.

That is only one example of one type of conversation. Not everyone we talk to will be a sleep deprived, adult conversation deprived mom. So, who are these people we talk to and how can we best enjoy chatting with them? 

My thought process is not for everybody, and I'm not perfect, but I try to stay actively engaged in my conversations. I try to really hear the person I am talking with while staying open minded and respectful of their opinions and their thought processes. If I catch myself waiting for a sentence to end just so I can say what is on my mind, I know I need to reel it in and bring myself back to the present moment. 

By doing this, the person I'm talking to gives me valuable gifts: I've laughed. I've learned things. I've accrued decades of perspectives heard and perspectives learned. I can either return the favor by bringing a new point of view to the table, or I can understand what we're talking about through different eyes. In my opinion, both are valuable to the energy we put out into the world. 

When did we stop seeing and hearing each other? And how did it happen? Have we grown tired of trying to be heard over all of the shouting? Over all of the opinions being shoved down the throats of those willing to swallow them? 

I can't speak for others. Their thoughts aren't mine and they shouldn't be. The differences between us are what keeps us balanced. They keep us moving forward and growing. Unfortunately though, I'm watching a platoon of angry robots armed with viral negativity slide in to silence our better halves. The scale is tipping. While sometimes we need the bad to see the good, the scale will completely tip over into nothing new and nothing special if we don't wake up. If we don't keep poking the robot until it reprograms itself to do better. Till it humanizes itself and works to create greater meaning and purpose. Till better habits are formed: I will listen. I will respect. I will try to do better. I will use my voice to spread positivity, gratitude, love. To open myself and others up into new perspective. To inspire.

Deaths have been plentiful this year. We've lost many celebrities, but my family and friends have also suffered a bunch of losses close to home. We've hit some real low points and because grief is so complex, these low points have stirred up plenty of mixed emotions and life lessons. 

I've felt it, I've watched it, I've talked about it with some of them, and I've found one thread through all of it. The people we have lost were neither good nor bad. At different points in their long and short lifetimes, they were both. Some were more colorful than others, but everyone had a story of their own. None of them were perfect, but they had another thing in common. Someone loved them enough to feel the loss. 

There was the man who took his own life to avoid the consequences of his shady and illegal dealings. He left behind a family. A grieving family that may have been shocked to discover his secret life. A family that he left to clean up his mess in the midst of their mourning. 

There was the last voicemail; an elderly relative asking for help with a task. It went ignored: Too busy. I'll do it tomorrow. The belief that this person will always to be around to annoy us with her favor asking. In the weeks before her death, when she knew that she didn't have much longer to live, she showed her generosity by giving away belongings while she could still see gratitude in the faces of the recipients.

There was the man who built a family of seven and a successful business from nothing. Once an example of strength and determination and moxy, dementia wore him down until his dependents became his caregivers. They fed him amd watched over him. They drew on his sense of family and his sound advice, so that they would have the tools to do right by him. As painful as it was to watch their role model deteriorate, their perspective about their own lives were changed during the process.

Lately, posts about pain and loss and depression are the norm. Hug emojis abound, and canned promises of prayers are always plentiful. We've heard it all: She was one of the good ones. Gone too soon. This is what he would have wanted. God has a plan.

I've struggled to make sense of feelings that have overwhelmed me and kept me from moving on; feelings like guilt or of not being enough. So, after my friend lost her dad and the well wishers had their say —Time heals all wounds. He's in a better place. These things happen for a reason. — I waited till she and I were alone before I said, "Tell me about him. Tell me why he was your hero." Her face lit up, and even though I could still see the pain of loss, I also saw love and pride. "A few weeks ago, I called to see how he was doing, and my mother said that he went to the office with his oxygen tank. It's so surreal. My son is never going to have another Grandson Sunday with him."

I asked, "Do you think that your son will carry on the tradition? Do you think he'll have Sundays with his kids or grandkids where he makes it a point to spend time fishing with them, or cooking with them, or whatever?" 

She smiled and answered without pausing, "I think so. I really hope so."

I said, "You know, a person isn't really forgotten until the last person who has a memory of them or knows their story is gone. If your son carries on the tradition and tells his kids and his grandkids how Grandson Sunday started, your dad will not be forgotten for a long, long time unless someone breaks that tradition or stops telling that story." Her smile was the solace I had hoped she'd feel while we talked. Then I continued, "But you know what I just thought of? Now I know the story. I'm a story teller who reaches many people, and I'm going to tell it. So now, your dad will be remembered even longer."

My friend hugged me. And when she tightened her arms and lingered a bit, I knew that she could feel that I'm here to support her. That she can talk to me, and I will really hear her. I truly believe if I had dared to utter one cliche, These things happen for a reason or Time heals all wounds, she would have felt no relief, and our conversation would have been very short.

Because I care, I will always risk being annoying by insisting that we speak in truths and perspectives without judgment, no matter what we are talking about. Until it sinks in that I see you. Until it sinks in that I hear you. Until all you want to do is give me a great big hug knowing that I will return it with the same force. I can take it.  

I want to hear how you think outside the box. I want to hear how you tore the whole thing apart and built a new box in those moments when the canned answer seemed like the only answer. 

And for those of you that build a whole new box, if you leave room for the Ring Dings we will enjoy with our crazy conversations—bonus points.

CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a quirky group of shorter novels that are meant to be read while on a lunch break or in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States. 

The BOOKLIFE PRIZE (a division of Publisher's Weekly) has praised CF WINN's MOORE THAN MEETS THE EYE: "This novel is a unique and original storyline that readers will likely find much enjoyment in. Winn's fiercely plotted storyline makes for a suspenseful read. Every plot point feels as if it is being revealed at precisely the right moment. Winn's word choice makes for a joyful ride through unexpectedly dark terrain."

CF Winn's blogs have been syndicated on multiple sites including The Masquerade Crew. More posts like these can be found at Humor Outcasts and The Patch where she is a regular contributor.  

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