I've been thinking about why I am so terrible at speaking lately and came to three conclusions. And by the way, when I say I'm terrible at speaking, I mean day to day conversations with people. (Of course, I am equally, if not much, much worse at public speaking, but for this post, I simply mean daily conversation.)
So, here are my issues -
Part one, and probably the biggest factor for my suck speak, is my overly analytical brain. I only write when I'm alone. But, when I talk, it takes two. I spend the conversation analyzing the interaction as we are conversing. The way the person moves, the tone of their voice, the facial expressions, the words... I mean, some people I have studied so closely I literally have them etched into my brain down the very detail of the way the tip of their nose curves. (I think about how I would draw them. In art, you learn that the only thing that makes an artist good is her ability to look.) This works fine for me when listening, and often times in my favor. But, the problem is, I don't turn the analyzing off when I start speaking...so I am literally talking and not even consciously knowing what words are coming from my mouth, because my brain is thinking Why am I leaning on this door? I am making that facial expression that I told myself to stop making because I hate how I look when I make it. Her socks are purple with pink stripes. Hurry up with this story already, Natasha. Eventually, I lose my sentence all together because I haven't even been thinking about it since I've been too busy analyzing everything else. I constantly find myself saying out loud to people, "Now where was I going with this?" It is enough to drive a girl crazy! That is why I like to listen and that is why I interact with extroverts the most easily....they relieve the pressure from my insane analytical mind by talking so that I don't have to. All my best girlfriends have been extroverts.
Anyway, the second, but much lesser issue I think stems from the residual funk and hurt left over from being told my personality is flawed, my sense of humor is evil, and I am generally a person of suck. (Hello manipulative ministries!) It has made me quite gun shy. There is still some part of me that really wonders, Were they right?
And finally wrapping it up with the third which is really caring too damn much what people think. I know I have strong opinions. I know I really enjoy a good banter. I know I can be sarcastic. I know I can be cut throat when I feel like someone is bull-shitting. If I said what I was really thinking at that moment, it would be as blunt as a used butter knife. And that side of me can come across as ruthless and mean, even though to me, it's nothing personal. It's a disagreement, a banter, a way of testing another's mind and the limits of their critical thinking ability. I love getting to know people in that way because you hear their passions, you learn their hot buttons, and you expose your own. But, I fear that not everyone else sees it this way and to some, that part of me is probably just straight up bitch. And who wants to be a bitch?
I have been thinking a lot this week that I could learn from Jesse. He is like me, except bigger and bolder and better. He says what he thinks. He doesn't care if people get offended. He interacts and moves on. He doesn't spend Sunday night thinking about a conversation he had Friday afternoon.
I do.
Do you know what's funny? This post wasn't even supposed to be about this. I have a meeting on Monday at work where we will be discussing the topic of whether or not to have a one piece swimsuit rule for girls at our camps. I have a lot of strong opinions on this. As I was reading the e-mail about it at work, one of the guys stopped in and I said I was getting too fired up reading it all, then quickly explained my view point. Later the conversation came back around, and I found myself sitting there in that place of once again saying, "Now where was I going with this sentence?" It was so frustrating with this topic in particular because I do feel so strongly about it, but I just can't reach my tongue and speak. When I got home, I had all these thoughts about feminism and men and women and bodies and all of this floating around my head. I thought I should dump some out on my blog before Monday, hoping that maybe by then, I will have collected myself enough that I could actually speak with some level of grace.
How ironic that instead of just saying on here what I had intended to say, I ended up creating an entire post where I analyze myself.
Damn it.
