Talking Less

                             There once was an owl who lived in an oak.
                             The more he heard the less he spoke.
                             The less he spoke the more he heard.
                             Why can't we be like that wise, old bird?

Funny what your brain remembers.  That is a poem I memorized way back in elementary school.  I remember reading it in a book and for whatever reason, I must have liked it because I took the time to learn it.  I still, every once in a while, recite it in my head. Maybe it has been kind of foreshadowing and practice for this moment.

We are developing a routine of health, here.  Healthy eating.  More exercise. Attitude shifting.  It's a slow process (I like that) and it feels good.  The shadows that seemed to permeate the house aren't as numerous.  Some still linger, but most are packing and moving on.  I am grateful.  I am proud of my daughter who is taking each day at a time.  Who, without announcing anything or complaining, has moved through each day with a better attitude.  I do not know the dialogue going on in her head.  But seeing the positive changes in here I can only think that she is finding power over the negative thoughts.  Any power, even power the size of a mustard seed, is a start.  I am hopeful, again. Each day pushes me further away from the past and closer into the future I've hoped for my daughter.  One of good health, happiness, contentment and prosperity. That is what I'm seeing.  That is what I'm feeling.  Tell that to my mouth, though, because I don't always express it that way. 

Yesterday morning, for reasons unknown to me, I started thinking and my mouth started moving and words were coming out that were not expressing the thoughts I was having in my mind.  My daughter was in the kitchen with me as I was getting ready for work.  She makes these delicious berry protein shakes for me to take to work.  Anyway, I started saying things like, "You should get a good routine going."  "Just remember, it's one day at a time."  "I don't think it's good to get addicted to meetings.  Some people do, it's better to find the core to your addiction than to just shift one addiction for another."  Statements like that. I could hear myself talking but what was coming out had nothing to do with what I was meaning to say.  She took offense.  She started getting upset.  From the words that she heard, she interpreted it as I wasn't noticing the progress.  That I didn't appreciate that she was still in a struggle.  That she could buy alcohol but has not.  She didn't think I thought it was enough.  She didn't think that, by what I was saying, I was supporting her. 

I felt that old twist starting in the pit of my stomach.  Did I just ruin everything by talking?  I understood where she was coming from.  Why had I said all of that?  What started it?  I apologized and the tension eased a bit, but I could feel the old worry dusting itself off, ready to take action.

All the way to work I thought, "What on earth made me talk about that?  What was my core for bringing those words to the surface?"   And then, that old nemesis revealed it's name:  Fear.  I started feeding fear with short memories of the past.  Though it is getting easy to leave them behind, sometimes the do pop up at unexpected moments and the lights and gears of that old worry machine begins and old behaviors and thoughts begin to move like a rusty robot.  I think that's why the words were not expressing what I was intending.  They were coming from a place inside that has been dormant--turned off.  They were outdated for the time we are in, now.  I need words and ideas that are new.  That are in tune with the future not dragging pieces from the past with them.

So, I decided that the next time I'm feeling that medley of ideas, those motivated from the past, I will just listen and speak less.  Or, not at all.