CONVERSATIONS

"I was thinking about your “good bones” and the homes you renovate. The inside can always change. Many times over. But the bones stay the same. Strong, sturdy. This journey you are on has changed your outside. How much has the inside changed? I imagine it is a work still very much in progress.

______________________

These words were tucked inside a letter, penned by a long-lost friend. What began as a heartfelt way of comforting me at the onset of my cancer diagnosis grew to be a deeply honest and breathtaking exchange we both needed. The more we wrote, the more we learned about one another and ourselves. The longer we lingered, the shyness of our hearts gave way and the resulting unfettered honesty became a lifeline in a season when all notions of superficiality  were being stripped away.  

We discover who we are through what we say. We begin with the intention of sharing the goings on in our ‘everyday’ but then, without warning, the heart takes over and starts a conversation of its own: The most neglected part of us will always find a way to get a word in.

There is this innate property about authenticity, an insistence that it cannot be one-sided. When we unveil who we are in every circumstance, every conversation, we crowd out pretense and make room for something real. For me, a bald head and an element of life’s uncertainty have cultivated a new level of vulnerability that is teaching me to be gentler with myself and others.

The palpable recognition that our romances, our embraces, our sunsets and smelling flowers are finite, sets us free to be more ourselves, compelling us to share the tender thing too often left unsaid.

These days we are masters at abbreviated conversation, even fitting our opinions within one 33-character line—But I remember the summer firefly evenings of my childhood when we’d all gather on Grandma’s back porch and tell stories of our wild adventures too numerous to count. And in between impossibly large bites of fresh picked beefsteak tomatoes, we would ask one another intimate questions [even the kids joining in] and listen like there was no tomorrow or at the very least no texts or twitter feeds to check.

No tomorrow. Put down the cell phone and let that sink in.

Just after Mama died, my Daddy came for dinner—Jackie had always been the one between the two of them who knew just how to engage the grandsons long enough to catch a glimpse of the young men they were becoming—I could tell Daddy was feeling awkward, this man I had known and adored my entire life was having trouble finding his way in. And then something remarkable happened. From his shirt pocket he withdrew a stack of three by five cards, each one covered with his signature cursive handwriting. One by one, he began reading the questions he’d written there— thoughtful, engaging, personal, meaningful inquiries penned with each one of us in mind. We talked for hours on that extraordinary evening, Daddy's example of a rare and tender courage pushing not only himself but all of us to find a new pathway to love.

Real connection takes time. It’s easy to judge someone in an instant, particularly from something quickly said. When we sit with someone, allowing the awkward silence to linger, we make space for what is buried in the heart to crawl its way to the surface and maybe, for the first time, to be heard.

When was the last time you felt heard? 

Last week I received the following email, a poignant reminder that sometimes the most life-changing conversations are the ones we are open and willing to have with ourselves:

Yesterday, the leader of my bible study  asked if any of us journal after one woman had shared that years ago, she had become severely depressed after her fourth baby and was suicidal. The leader said it was a good way to get through the valleys and to see how far we come when we go back and read them. Only a handful raised our hands. It occurred to me this morning that my letters to you are a form of journaling. I honestly look forward to writing to you.

Are we listening to what we are saying, especially to the conversations running through our heads? How do we access the tangled words when we are so unacquainted with what is longing to be said?

We begin. “Dear Friend.” One by one the words find their way onto letter, three by five card, or tongue. And then what is said is heard with the heart, and held as sacred. 

FOUR WAYS TO START MEANINGFUL CONVERSATION 

1. Think Beforehand—sometimes we’re so excited to see someone that we can’t wait to share what’s going on in our lives. Remembering the other person feels the very same way could be the difference between instilling hope or perpetuating frustration. Sometimes our love and friendship show up in our willingness to listen over being heard. 

2. Ask Meaningful Questions—what began as a parlor game popularized by Bernard Pivot and Marcel Proust turned trivial chatter into thought-provoking conversations through the art of asking compelling questions. My favorites include: What is your favorite and least favorite word and why? What do you consider to be your best achievement? What is your favorite possession?              

3. Inspire Interesting Conversation—during our frequent gatherings with Barb and Marty [our dear friends], Marty never fails to bring an essay he has written on a philosophical subject to garner our point of view. Prior to discussion the rules of engagement are shared and respectful conversation always ensues. While the essay is unnecessary, a three-by-five card is ideal. We find that even with friends we’ve known for years, this idea inspires us to share something about ourselves that those closest to us never knew.  

4. Write It Instead of Speak It—there are many of us who become intimidated, even put off, by facial expressions and body language. And there are some of us who need a little time to process and are less adept at saying what is meant or felt in the moment. If you fall into this category, initiating a written conversation is a beautiful way to speak from the heart while eliminating the possibility of cloaking the true meaning in initial feelings of anger or defense. 

Creating a beautiful home always starts with cultivating the sacred conversations that soothe the angst and make a way for love. Because what a home looks like should never be placed over how it feels—Janene Kraft