Alright, I just spent a half an hour writing a post that I lost somewhere in e-space. As if that weren’t enough, it was actually a pretty good post. But since I have little interest in recreating an idea, I’ll just ramble onward with some other marginally-related thoughts.
I am a great communicator within a very narrow context. If the subject is ECE, male involvement, street art, tequila or perhaps tattoos… we can talk. If it has anything to do with revealing any insight into my feelings, wants, or needs – I’m a disaster. My wife is wise and trained in special needs and inclusion. She gets me. My close friends are few and we rarely speak. They get me. It’s a small circle.
When I took the self-assessments that were a part of this week’s assignment, it was interesting to learn how dramtically my communication anxiety score differed from how others saw me. But neither my wife nor my co-worker know me as an ECE leader/conference presenter/public policy advocate. In truth, their assessment of me is far more accurate. After all, how much communication anxiety must be involved for me to live happily without a cell phone? I don’t answer the phone at home (it’s not for me). I don’t have friends visit. And even though I dearly love my few friends and family, we rarely speak.
It’s a sort of understanding that I have with my world. And while it might be nice to say that I will really set forth communication goals for myself – the truth of the matter is that I don’t much care to communicate better. There is room in my head for the few friends and family that I have plus the many children at work and my two dogs. I give out my e-mail address instead of my phone number. It’s easier to hit the delete key. It’s also easier to save forever some random thought from a friend… on e-mail… on facebook… a sort of electronic communication tattoo.