Regional dialects and colloquialisms simultaneously distinguish and aggregate us. I’ve lived in CA for 21 years and mostly fit right in, but occasionally something I say will reveal my Hoosier roots to a native Californian or will bond me together with another Hoosier. It only takes a certain expression or tone of voice. Often the nonverbal gestures and expressions alone distinguish us and shape the frame of a conversation. A friend shared this great piece with me about Midwestern communication, highlighting the depth of meaning that can be shared or inferred from a plain sentence.
Of late, I’ve been chatting with my new friend, Amy. She and I share a similar tale of small town Hoosier girl, turned fortunate, professional, married Californian. The laughs abound, but the depth of understanding results not just from the analogous history, but also from the scrutiny we bring to the communication. We read each other so well. Of course, it helps that the fresher a friendship the more you make a point to be understood.
I then contrast that with the communication channels between Sandy and I, and I can identify so many dropped packets. Our therapist reminds us to clearly state and listen for intent, and although rationally, I know that I should, our habit is often to infer meaning from non-verbal clues. Sadly, my non-verbals of recent are noodle soup. I cannot imagine how hard it is to read me right now. I smile and laugh over grimaces constantly. What’s more, I may start off strong but the people who benefit from that are the boys and coworkers in the morning. As the day moves onward and I get worse, I ration energy and presentation. Most days, I can eek out dinner followed by a bedtime story. But by the time that Sandy and I are alone, my stores are depleted. My non-verbals, gestures, tone of voice, facial expressions, breaths and sighs, are screaming, “stay the hell away from me.” How unfair is that for Sandy?
I have to remind myself that I may likely be misconstruing messages from his equally confused non-verbals. For instance, if he’s in the kitchen cooking and I come in to get something, and I see him clench his fists and mash his teeth, I usually will duck my head, mumble an apology and scurry straight out. I rarely inquire about his feelings or negotiate access to the kitchen. Occasionally, I take his non-verbal as a challenge and get pissed off at him before he’s said anything. He has all of these facial and physical tics and stances that I interpret or perhaps mis-interpret rather than probing or asking his actual intent. Of course, sometimes I think Sandy neither knows what he is feeling, nor that he presents the feelings non-verbally. The clenching of the fists to pop his knuckles – he probably doesn’t understand that that is an aggressive and domineering gesture. Playing on his phone when I asked for advice on how to talk to my GI about my treatment plan probably served to distract him from unpleasant feelings of helplessness but unfortunately communicated disinterest to me.
Perhaps it’s just that something is lost in translation between our regional non-verbal dialects.