“Speechless” (Part 2)

By: Corey Thompson, “The Thirsty Quill”

(Continued)

You see, had I published the original article on time, you would be reading another one of my famous rants. The transcript would be very different from what you’re looking at right now.

The old article was before my wife’s wreck that left our car totaled. It was before a computer glitch failed to save about 90% of the original work, forcing me to sleep on my thoughts for another night, and to literally start all over from scratch when I was already behind schedule.

It was also before I began to realize the significance of many of the amazing opportunities in which I have been able to listen to someone else in recent days…

A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with Bill, a good friend and mentor during my previous career in banking. I chatted with my brother-in-law Charlie, a creative genius, fellow writer, and the closest thing to a constructive critic that I’ve ever had standing in my corner. I spent an hour on the phone with Ty, also a former colleague, who is currently setting a fine example of being a phenomenal Daddy and husband in the midst of one of life’s toughest challenges. The list of names could go on for pages…

There have been conversations over beers that I didn’t pay for, and conversations over worn-out decks of cards. I’ve had the opportunity to listen to folks who are experiencing many of the same fears and frustrations that I have held inside. There were conversations about jobs that had been lost, and about bills that couldn’t be paid.

There were baseball games with old friends. There were checks that were picked up on my behalf, and when the opportunity presented itself, I grabbed the check and did my part in maintaining the practice of “paying it forward” on my own dime. It was the right thing to do since others had done the same for me.

In so many of these conversations, I listened to countless stories of professional anxiety and personal worries that had no immediate remedy in sight. And through it all, I heard others try to make some sense of it, and attempt to grasp the words that I couldn’t find either…the ones that had left me speechless. I discovered that I wasn’t alone.

In each instance, I found my own fears being drowned out once I began to listen to others. Amidst the growing chorus of those who were feeling the same things and experiencing the same things that I was, I took comfort in the realization that we’re all fighting to stay afloat right now, and that the best possible way to do just that is to cling to those who are treading water right there beside you.

Then there were walks with Jenny, and the opportunity to recite “A, B, C’s” with my son Charlie. There were cookouts with some familiar faces, and some faces I had never met. There were invitations to dinner. There was reminiscing with old friends…many of whom were former students of mine…which brings me back to that “strange sense of loss”…

This time each year, I find myself searching for that “perfect” speech to give to my students just before they leave our classroom for the final time. Typically, I try to give some motivational charge that I would like to believe resonates with them for the rest of their lives…but I’m quite certain that isn’t the case. Regardless, it hits me that those words will be my last opportunity to “teach” them, and in many cases, the final words that they will ever hear me say.

Last week, they sat there, staring back at me just moments before the bell was to ring that would forever set them free from my ‘boring’ lectures and ‘pointless’ assignments. Instead of leaning on old slogans and worn-out clichés, I tried to envision myself in their shoes. And while their voices may not have said a word, their faces and their eyes spoke volumes.

They were hopeful for the future and the limitless potential that awaited them. They carried the same dreams that I had seen in the faces of the classes I had taught years before. They were inspired to go out and change the world.

Yet, I could also sense that they too, just like their parents and their teacher, held apprehensions about college tuition bills that were already piling up, cancelled vacations, and summer jobs that were evaporating in the first rays of the formerly hibernated sun.

I may teach the past, yet to them belong the future…something that is a little more precarious these days than in recent years.

So while I struggle with my own fears and worries about what may or may not lie ahead along the journey of life, I take solace in the fact that none of us are traveling alone. As I have found, listening to the rhythmic footsteps and the reassuring voices of those around you is a lot more comforting than anything we could ever say by ourselves…and if you listen, truly listen, you may discover, as I did, that there is so much to learn from those who travel with us when we close our mouths and open our ears for a change. And that is a lesson none of us should soon forget…

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