Enjoy the Silence

This evening, Sara and I went, not quite over the river but into the woods, to visit my parents for Christmas, which is a markedly different affair from that to which she's accustomed. For years, my family imbibed all holiday accouterments, from buying prickly trees that nobody watered, to wrapping the staircase banisters with artificial garlands.

The house looked terrific, but was a lot of work for my parents, and several years ago, they decided uniformly to abandon the traditional holiday hallmarks, focusing instead on the much simpler concept of togetherness. Now, no gifts are exchanged, and none are expected. When I isolate even the tiniest moments of unconditional love, in either spiritual or material form exchanged through my immediate family over the course of a year, one day of presents is moot.

This is the second time that Sara has met my parents, and they get along well, with both parties professing affection, and more importantly, ease. Significantly more than expected is my awareness of my palpable unease when I'm introducing Sara at gatherings and social interactions, like I'm burdened by some uncomfortable responsibility to play ring-master, to prolong conversations, and ensure above all that everybody involved are enjoying themselves. There are several reasons why this has happened a few times, mostly with my friends.

Firstly, I genuinely do care that there's symbiosis between the various social contacts orbiting my tiny universe. Nothing's worse than people that don't get on with each other, or people that blithely tolerate with thin-lipped lassitude the presence of another. I've done both countless times, often without much justification. Sara is intelligent, thoughtful, and considerate, preferring to let her words develop before articulation. I'm wired differently, and while I don't blurt inconsiderately too often, interject frequently, ask questions and try to stimulate conversation whenever possible.

Lately, I've been dead-tired, a casualty of getting two meager weeks off per year in a job that's all about the art of the guided conversation, meaning it's usually five minutes about sports, the weather, celebrity gossip, and then very subtle shifts to guide business. Being a quality conversationalist is both a blessing a curse. When I was young, my silence was taken as moodiness, which wasn't well tolerated. I learned to think on my feet, to mask social fatigue, and play all ninety minutes, blue-line to blue-line. Hell, they're sports metaphors, and I'm in a mix-and-match mood. I'm just going to put it out there: shuttlecock.

After an initial surge of energy, several plates of cheese, crackers and dark, rich fudge, I got groggy, having not slept well last night. Here's where development is notable: I excused myself, went upstairs, and napped on my parent's bed, leaving Sara with my parents. This is no small accomplishment, since I had to place trust in their abilities to congregate openly and efficaciously without my hovering presence. A part of me is curious about what they talked about, but that's the kind of concern I'm learning to abandon.

Sara is more comfortable with silence than I am, largely as a result of early conditioning. In the years since she's moved, attended college, and had numerous friends, dated, and held various jobs, she has become more gregarious and open. Her quiet poise and delicacy are traits I greatly admire, further still her ability to work demanding, unrewarding retail sails jobs that require serious superficiality. My job at Brown is often like social chess, with only subtle changes in the conversation, eventually ending in the 'check-mate' decision for them to buy into a program.

When they don't, for any number of reasons (you wouldn't believe the excuses I've heard), it's a referendum on my ability to converse, connect, and persuade. The more I've learned about the mechanisms of sales, the more I distrust it, which is the same as distrusting my innate abilities as an orator, and reputable, sincere person. I've had people question my motives, asking if I get commission from enrolling them. There was until two weeks ago, a compensation plan for this very purpose, but in over three years of hard work, I haven't seen an additional dime.

Being able to disconnect from the party, if only for an hour, is a healthy step in my work towards liberating my own expectations to be performing, if sometimes just for myself. That's why true tranquility can't be attained without first allowing it in my own life, the stillness and peace that results from sitting still, and letting people work it out for themselves. That's what's going to happen, anyway.