​​What’s Worth Saying?

Friday night looked a little different at our house this week. My bride and I stayed home and painted. She painted wildflowers. I attempted my first turtle. A few months ago, I’m pretty sure “Friday night watercolor painting” wouldn’t have made the list of things we were considering doing together. But life looks different right now. I’m healing, my energy is still hit or miss, and I physically can’t speak. So we painted, and somewhere in the quiet of that Friday night, I found myself thinking about words.

I’ve never been someone who uses a lot of them. I probably say less in a day than most people. I don’t feel the need to fill every silence or have an opinion about everything. The people who know me best know that when I do say something, there’s usually a reason. I’ve spent thousands of hours coaching people, and sometimes the most powerful thing I can say in a session is one question. Words matter to me, which makes living without a physical voice pretty fascinating.

For the last few weeks, if I want to say something, I type it, write it, gesture it, or just let it go. I’ll be sitting with people having a completely meaningless conversation and think of something stupid I want to say. Normally, I’d throw it out there, laugh, and move on. Now, by the time I grab my phone and type it out, the conversation has moved on anyway. Half the time I just laugh internally because whatever I was going to say probably wasn’t that important to begin with.

There’s a big difference between choosing not to speak and physically being unable to. That part can be lonely. I miss casually saying something to my bride. I miss jumping into a conversation with my kids, calling a buddy, or saying something stupid at exactly the right moment. I even miss some of the meaningless conversations because sometimes those are the moments that make you laugh the hardest. I’m realizing words don’t always have to be profound to matter. Sometimes they matter simply because you’re sharing a moment with someone you love.

At the same time, being unable to speak has made me pay a lot more attention to what’s actually worth saying. When every sentence takes effort, you become more selective. Some thoughts can pass. Some conversations don’t need another opinion. Some silence is actually pretty damn good. And some things are worth finding your phone, typing every freaking letter, and making sure the other person sees it. I love you. Thank you. I’m proud of you. I’m sorry. I believe in you. Keep going. Those words are always worth the effort.

The last few weeks have given me a lot to think about. In Bigger Than Me, I wrote about learning to trust other people to carry something I care deeply about. Last week, in What Are You Preparing For?, I wrote about whether the things we do throughout our lives might be preparing us for moments we could never see coming. Now I’m spending most of my days in silence, and I’m learning something else. You don’t have to fill every space for the moment to matter.

Friday night was a pretty good example. My bride was beside me painting wildflowers. I was doing my best to make something that resembled a turtle. We weren’t having some deep conversation about life. We were just together on a Friday night doing something we probably never would have been doing a few months ago. It was simple, quiet, and a pretty freaking great night.

In 6-7 weeks, I’ll have another procedure to place a TEP and a small voice prosthesis. Once it heals and I learn how to use it, I should be able to speak again. It will be a new voice, and I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with it. I don’t think getting my voice back is going to make me talk more. I think I’ll be even more intentional about the words I choose.

Words can make someone laugh, encourage someone who needs it, ask a question that changes the direction of a life, tell someone the truth, or remind the people you love how much they matter. And sometimes you don’t need any words at all. Sometimes you can sit beside your bride on a Friday night, paint a questionable turtle, and realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

I’ll have a voice again soon, and I plan to use it well. Until then, I’m listening, healing, laughing internally a lot more than anyone around me probably realizes 😂, and paying closer attention to one pretty simple question.

What’s worth saying?