“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear, does it make a sound?" Many have pondered this question, and now I’m pondering a similar one. Whenever I publish a new post to this newsletter, I wait. Silence is not golden to a writer. When we writers put our words out into the world, insecurity may amplify while we wait for feedback. In the initial silence before the first comment, it feels like the tree falling. Have my words made a sound?
This reminds me of being in endless piano recitals all my life and wondering if anyone (besides my parents) would like my performance. This culminated with my senior recital at the Chicago Conservatory—a 1 1/2 hour memorized solo performance complete with intermission—a prerequisite for graduating. I don’t think I breathed through the whole thing! And talk about insecurity—performing in front of my peers and teachers.
Well, I made it—and did receive compliments. But I felt like I aged 50 years in the process!
It's your most loquatious fan, Catherine. I'm sure you've noticed, I have no qualms about writing copious amounts of words on-line, but I have to tell you something: I've pretty much stopped posting my comments on the three Substack writers I subscribe to who have zillions of followers. I often get "likes" which I like! But there are already 300-700 posts before I even get outta bed in the morning, since I'm on the western-most part of the USA. And what I've seen lately is problematic: people arguing with one another, and some saying very uncharitable remarks.
But YOUR column is an invitation to write a response! Especially for us seniors. Here's what I think is the problem. Most folks nowadays read on little itty bitty i-phones, or the even tinier flip phones. And writing is not easy on those things! I have a desktop computer with a nice wide monitor, and a good keyboard, so the fingers just fly along. Sometime TOO much, that's for sure!
What happened at the grade school was egregiously wrong! I probably would have left the stage mid-anthem crying!
So, don't take it personally when you don't get a lot of feedback. It's our crazy world. Even my best friends only write a very short note when they do respond. Most will call back instead of using their phones to e-mail. I had to move inland due to finances and miss my long-time friends terribly. I have only ONE friend who corresponds with me bi-weekly and sends me clippings from the hometown newspaper. I love writing actual letters back! (She's more of a technophobe that me!)
OK, one more thing: our CA schools are now going to be once again teaching cursive writing! How can a person write a letter without knowing cursive? A whole generation missed out on cursive, and it shows on their signatures--an undecipherable scribble at best.
Another thought--many folks these days do not want to share anything PERSONAL. They will tell about their fabulous vacations on Facebook (I do not do Facebook.) But even the Substack respondents write about POLITICS, never anything personal! Thanks for putting up with me!
Oh Ginni, we All need to be heard as you have expressed.
Today's post shared an incredibly wounding early experience of being both in the spotlight and being invisible on stage. I can’t believe that none of the adults in the room were helpful! What a shock.
I have not experienced anything of that magnitude, but I do know what it feels like to be unseen.
This happens regularly while I live on a shared property with my son and his family. It reminds me of when my mother almost begged her three offspring to come "spend time" with her. We were all in different stages of our lives working. My brothers lived closer than I by about an hour and still paid minimal attention to visiting her.
I remember that after my husband died, I was doing my best to make ends meet as a massage therapist while also working part time at a local seafood market (essentially earning gas money). Mom would plead for me to come and give she and dad massages. Never did she realize or acknowledge that I had to give up work for a day in order to drive over 100 miles round trip to massage them and then of course stay for food because parents feed people..and the ensuing visit which was the real reason behind their request. So I felt that I had lost time and money, was more tired and more stressed fulfilling their needs. After my dad died, mom would sometimes come stay at my house. She could have her massage and visit, I would cook for her and she could sun herself on the deck and read while I went to my clients. It was a better arrangement.
In writing this, I realize that aging presents its own set of needs. I tried to insure a regular opportunity to be with my family by offering to make dinner here once a week on their busiest evening, so they didn’t need to factor in what to do about dinner and so I could witness dinner chatter, which I think they take for granted and I might sell teeth for.
Nothing is set in stone. In the past two months they have cancelled at least four times. For the most part, I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the prep for opening a new office and the fact that my daughter-in-law's mother is visiting from Taiwan and many other factors. None of those facts change my growing sense of isolation.
So I would like you to write about how to feel less isolated as we age. I already have three Zoom writing groups that meet weekly and monthly. I go for local nature walks and joined Descanso Gardens and can meet friends there. I also belong to a walking group and I meet individual walking partners regularly. I have created a wonderful garden sanctuary in the back and maintain it myself. Covid was not kind to me (or many of us I suspect) because of the required disconnection from socializing. I railed against the fear mongering. While my family went about their lives as if there was no change. I salute them for not buying into the panic and passing that on to my granddaughter..again, aging is something I arrived at unprepared for what it means.
Thanks for this opportunity to express my thoughts.
Oh, Ginni, my heart stopped for you as a young girl who never received feedback on her singing. Your post reminded me of when I was voluntarily writing an educational column for our local newspaper in my early thirties. Week after week I would submit my column, and I would never receive any feedback from the editor. I had no idea of what the editor thought of my writing or if he even read it. The silence was agonizing, and I was too timid to ask what the editor really thought; so that is on me. Now, I would, but my younger self wouldn't dare ask.
While I no longer expect feedback on any of my published writings, I do still appreciate it. Kudos to you for approaching this subject and reminding us of the value of feedback.
Ginni, often when I read your writing, I’m on my phone. It is such a pain to comment from here. Often there are typos after I’ve written an eloquent comment. My giant thumbs are much larger than the tiny letters on my phone. I’d rather delete the entire comment than post something full of unintended typos.
Your writing always gives me pause for reflection. Thank you for that.
Thanks, Catherine. I always hope my writing encourages others to think and share. I learned that the more personal a writer's story, the more universal the message. I'm seeing that truth here as you and others open up and share. I'm delighted to witness you stepping more and more into your courage to share yourself. Thank you.
Ginni - beautifully written. I'd better not move off this "writing box" or I'll lose my words again! Technology! YOU ARE AMAZING! YOUR WORDS ARE AMAZING! YOUR LOVE IS AMAZING! Thank you for sharing from your heart, exposing yourself the way you do, risking . . . you are an exquisite human being. Later, when things slow down I may write more . . . in the interim, feast on these words: YOU ARE TOTALLY LOVED AND ADORED!!! YOUR WORDS ARE TOTALLY LOVED AND ADORED!! samantha
Once again you have taken me back to a lifetime ago memory, that would probably be better forgotten. I was 18 at a party (drinking alcohol) and my friend started to sing. Of course, thinking I was just as good her (due to my beverage consumption), I joined her in her revelry. When we finished, the room went deadly silent. We were a little confused as we knew this wasn't that good. Then many seconds later the whole room elapsed into laughter. I have not and will not ever sing outside my shower again. Wink, wink.
This reminds me of being in endless piano recitals all my life and wondering if anyone (besides my parents) would like my performance. This culminated with my senior recital at the Chicago Conservatory—a 1 1/2 hour memorized solo performance complete with intermission—a prerequisite for graduating. I don’t think I breathed through the whole thing! And talk about insecurity—performing in front of my peers and teachers.
Well, I made it—and did receive compliments. But I felt like I aged 50 years in the process!
Hi, Ginni~
It's your most loquatious fan, Catherine. I'm sure you've noticed, I have no qualms about writing copious amounts of words on-line, but I have to tell you something: I've pretty much stopped posting my comments on the three Substack writers I subscribe to who have zillions of followers. I often get "likes" which I like! But there are already 300-700 posts before I even get outta bed in the morning, since I'm on the western-most part of the USA. And what I've seen lately is problematic: people arguing with one another, and some saying very uncharitable remarks.
But YOUR column is an invitation to write a response! Especially for us seniors. Here's what I think is the problem. Most folks nowadays read on little itty bitty i-phones, or the even tinier flip phones. And writing is not easy on those things! I have a desktop computer with a nice wide monitor, and a good keyboard, so the fingers just fly along. Sometime TOO much, that's for sure!
What happened at the grade school was egregiously wrong! I probably would have left the stage mid-anthem crying!
So, don't take it personally when you don't get a lot of feedback. It's our crazy world. Even my best friends only write a very short note when they do respond. Most will call back instead of using their phones to e-mail. I had to move inland due to finances and miss my long-time friends terribly. I have only ONE friend who corresponds with me bi-weekly and sends me clippings from the hometown newspaper. I love writing actual letters back! (She's more of a technophobe that me!)
OK, one more thing: our CA schools are now going to be once again teaching cursive writing! How can a person write a letter without knowing cursive? A whole generation missed out on cursive, and it shows on their signatures--an undecipherable scribble at best.
Another thought--many folks these days do not want to share anything PERSONAL. They will tell about their fabulous vacations on Facebook (I do not do Facebook.) But even the Substack respondents write about POLITICS, never anything personal! Thanks for putting up with me!
Oh Ginni, we All need to be heard as you have expressed.
Today's post shared an incredibly wounding early experience of being both in the spotlight and being invisible on stage. I can’t believe that none of the adults in the room were helpful! What a shock.
I have not experienced anything of that magnitude, but I do know what it feels like to be unseen.
This happens regularly while I live on a shared property with my son and his family. It reminds me of when my mother almost begged her three offspring to come "spend time" with her. We were all in different stages of our lives working. My brothers lived closer than I by about an hour and still paid minimal attention to visiting her.
I remember that after my husband died, I was doing my best to make ends meet as a massage therapist while also working part time at a local seafood market (essentially earning gas money). Mom would plead for me to come and give she and dad massages. Never did she realize or acknowledge that I had to give up work for a day in order to drive over 100 miles round trip to massage them and then of course stay for food because parents feed people..and the ensuing visit which was the real reason behind their request. So I felt that I had lost time and money, was more tired and more stressed fulfilling their needs. After my dad died, mom would sometimes come stay at my house. She could have her massage and visit, I would cook for her and she could sun herself on the deck and read while I went to my clients. It was a better arrangement.
In writing this, I realize that aging presents its own set of needs. I tried to insure a regular opportunity to be with my family by offering to make dinner here once a week on their busiest evening, so they didn’t need to factor in what to do about dinner and so I could witness dinner chatter, which I think they take for granted and I might sell teeth for.
Nothing is set in stone. In the past two months they have cancelled at least four times. For the most part, I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the prep for opening a new office and the fact that my daughter-in-law's mother is visiting from Taiwan and many other factors. None of those facts change my growing sense of isolation.
So I would like you to write about how to feel less isolated as we age. I already have three Zoom writing groups that meet weekly and monthly. I go for local nature walks and joined Descanso Gardens and can meet friends there. I also belong to a walking group and I meet individual walking partners regularly. I have created a wonderful garden sanctuary in the back and maintain it myself. Covid was not kind to me (or many of us I suspect) because of the required disconnection from socializing. I railed against the fear mongering. While my family went about their lives as if there was no change. I salute them for not buying into the panic and passing that on to my granddaughter..again, aging is something I arrived at unprepared for what it means.
Thanks for this opportunity to express my thoughts.
Oh, Ginni, my heart stopped for you as a young girl who never received feedback on her singing. Your post reminded me of when I was voluntarily writing an educational column for our local newspaper in my early thirties. Week after week I would submit my column, and I would never receive any feedback from the editor. I had no idea of what the editor thought of my writing or if he even read it. The silence was agonizing, and I was too timid to ask what the editor really thought; so that is on me. Now, I would, but my younger self wouldn't dare ask.
While I no longer expect feedback on any of my published writings, I do still appreciate it. Kudos to you for approaching this subject and reminding us of the value of feedback.
Ginni, often when I read your writing, I’m on my phone. It is such a pain to comment from here. Often there are typos after I’ve written an eloquent comment. My giant thumbs are much larger than the tiny letters on my phone. I’d rather delete the entire comment than post something full of unintended typos.
Your writing always gives me pause for reflection. Thank you for that.
Deb
loving you . . .
Thanks, Catherine. I always hope my writing encourages others to think and share. I learned that the more personal a writer's story, the more universal the message. I'm seeing that truth here as you and others open up and share. I'm delighted to witness you stepping more and more into your courage to share yourself. Thank you.
Ginni - beautifully written. I'd better not move off this "writing box" or I'll lose my words again! Technology! YOU ARE AMAZING! YOUR WORDS ARE AMAZING! YOUR LOVE IS AMAZING! Thank you for sharing from your heart, exposing yourself the way you do, risking . . . you are an exquisite human being. Later, when things slow down I may write more . . . in the interim, feast on these words: YOU ARE TOTALLY LOVED AND ADORED!!! YOUR WORDS ARE TOTALLY LOVED AND ADORED!! samantha
I just wrote a long response. As I was trying to correct a misspelling it disappeared. Where did it go? Grrrr
Once again you have taken me back to a lifetime ago memory, that would probably be better forgotten. I was 18 at a party (drinking alcohol) and my friend started to sing. Of course, thinking I was just as good her (due to my beverage consumption), I joined her in her revelry. When we finished, the room went deadly silent. We were a little confused as we knew this wasn't that good. Then many seconds later the whole room elapsed into laughter. I have not and will not ever sing outside my shower again. Wink, wink.