Day One:
I have a really fun morning with my sister. We sit around and talk and drink coffee. I drive for 5 hours and enjoy the prairie and the silence and the sky. I go to a really fun St. Patrick's Day party. At said party, right around 11 pm, I lose my voice. I still stay up until 2 am.
Day Two:
At church. I still think I'm functioning like a normal human. I totally deny this inside until I talk to my mother on the phone and she tells me not to talk to anyone for the rest of the day. (I listen, but still don't get it.)
Day Three:
Back to school. I change all my lesson plans to keep my voice silent. I enjoy the silence in the morning. All students are awesome about this. By the afternoon, I'm getting antsy. I want conversations to happen but my body won't cooperate. I tell myself I'll be fine by tomorrow.
Day Four:
I'm not fine by tomorrow. Students check in before school to see if I'm ok. I tell them I am and drink lots and lots of water and teach like everything is normal. Every once in a while I catch weird looks from the students and I hear the strain in my voice. And I think it must be sort of difficult to listen to me.
It's the end of Day Four, and tonight I saw my friends, and they told me it still wasn't better. They were shocked. They saw me at the St. Patrick's Day party on Saturday, and my voice still sounds bad.
'Don't you use your voice a lot when you teach?' (Yes. Seriously. A lot.)
So I face facts. My friend Tyler explains exactly how he taught when he had laryngitis. He said not to break character. To use your eyes for discipline. I realize four things in this moment. First, that I totally believe him. Second, that it's easy to break character (a.k.a. not be totally silent in the course of the day) because I love words and conversations and stories. Love them. It's hard to not be a part of it. Third, that I have been in complete denial about how I'm still not better. My mind and body are not working together. Fourth, I am mad about this. I feel just fine. I have energy. There is an arrogance to this that shocks me when I finally face it. I need my voice. I want my body to work on my terms. It's not happening yet.
Usually that's a pretty strong signal of a need for change.....when your body shuts down. Got it. I have a plan for tomorrow, and it will really involve rest. No more denial.
But I just have to say that it's clashing with a lot of what fuels my day. My love for words and conversation and communication with people. I love to talk. I love to hear new things from other people. I like a good turn of a word. When I meet people, I notice their voices. I think it's crazy interesting that people in this world use their voices in so many languages and dialects.
I tried saying hi to students in the hall today and lots of them didn't hear me. (Minorly awkward. More just momentarily depressing.)
And though the love for words is strong, the hope for words that are well-placed is stronger. Actually, the older I become, the more I realize that some of my favorite people are those who know how to be quiet together. Since I have a natural affinity for conversation this is something I have to practice. Paring down. Keep words intentional and simple. Letting the words have their space. Articulation. Intonation. Rightly placed things in your voice.
It seems that I will have time to practice paring things down tomorrow.
And that I'm glad that as a 4th grader I took keyboarding. And that I can now type very quickly. Which is how I'll be communicating tomorrow.
'Type this,' said the teacher. 'The quick, red fox jumped over the lazy brown dog.'
'And, repeat,' said the teacher. 'And, repeat. And, repeat. And, repeat.'
'And now you can play 'Number Munchers', said the teacher.
Aaahhhh, 1994.
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