You know those wonderful, wise people
who listen with full attention, never jump to conclusions, and say only what
needs to be said and not a hiccup more?
Yeah, that’s not me.
I am an experienced operative in the world
of unsolicited advice. Don’t want an opinion? I have one anyway. Didn’t ask for
advice? Mine is free and plentiful.
Until recently, I would have said I was
fairly careful about sharing the advice and opinions that pop into my head. But
after standing in line to cash a check ,hearing the non-stop thoughts of the man
behind me, I got to thinking. What would happen if I consciously listened more
and opined less?
I hadn’t decided yet what to sacrifice
for Lent. This would be perfect! For 40 days, I would offer no unsolicited
opinions and give no unsought advice.
It seemed easy enough, until I logged in to Facebook.
The first well-thought-out comment to a
friend’s post flew from my fingers and I hit “send” before remembering. He hadn’t
asked my opinion. I hit “delete”.
Several comments have since been
half-written and erased. I’ve had an internal debate over whether “liking”
something constituted an opinion or just encouragement. The nuances are many.
In the store, I noticed a misspelled sign
in Spanish. I instantly dug in my purse for pen and paper, then just as quickly
stopped. The minimum-wage clerk behind the counter didn’t need someone telling
him what his company should do.
To be honest, it drove me nuts for the
first few days. Like a pressure cooker without a release valve, I became more
and more aware of every advice-laden, opinionated thought that pressed on my
lips. I began to wonder about the protocol for changing Lenten sacrifices; what
do you do when it’s hard to tolerate the one you picked and you’d like to try a
lighter fare?
Then, last night, I had to phone in to a
committee meeting. In the course of discussion the chairman said those magic
words: “What do you think?” Let me tell you, that was one heady brew. I aired my
opinions! I gave my advice! As I excitedly laid out (in more detail than
necessary) my recommendations for a possible event, I found myself scribbling, “Thank
God for committee meetings!”
It boggles the mind.
It also got me to thinking again. I
tolerate the squeaky door. I tolerate the wrong salad dressing. A Lenten sacrifice should not be tolerated; it
should expose me to the deeper nature of Jesus.
Then I thought about something I tell novice
interpreters: that one of the most important skills they can develop is the
ability to listen without the need to respond.
So maybe that’s what was missing from my
Lenten sacrifice.
Perhaps instead of listening more, I
should focus on only listening, even outside
the interpreter’s booth. Maybe I need to cut loose the expectations lurking behind
the advice I want to give, expectations the other person never asked for, and make
room for the person they already are.
The impatience is gone now. I’m getting
excited about this experiment. The next few weeks will be an adventure.
In fact, the excitement seems to be
catching. My son called to chat, and I told him of my Lenten sacrifice and that
I wouldn’t be giving unsolicited advice until Lent was over.
He and his brother are still out celebrating.
