When you listen

 

              I guess they’d started to wonder what was taking me so long.

              It was late afternoon in Silverton, Colorado and I still hadn’t returned from a little shopping excursion.

              “Little” because it was off-season in the high mountain town and there were only maybe four stores still open, so my husband and daughter didn’t expect it would take me hours to walk the few blocks to the main part of town and find a souvenir.

              But I wasn’t just shopping. I was listening.

              It started innocently enough. In most cases, the shopkeeper would get the ball rolling with something basic like, “Where are you from?” That was enough to tell me that they were interested and that they had some time. And when I answered, they had a connection or a question or a story of their own related to the place.

              Off-season is pretty quiet in Silverton, and I was often the only one in the store at the time, or maybe the only one they’d see for the day, so it wasn’t a problem to chat while I was paying for my polished geode or my hand-made leaf-shaped earrings.

              And once the conversation started, it didn’t often stop. For quite some time.

              Maybe it’s the old reporter in me, but I find it irresistible when someone is willing to tell me the story of their life or their hobby or their town. And with just a few stories of my own thrown in here and there to keep the conversation going, I often find out more about local people and history and controversies than I would any other way.

              Sometimes it’s easier to share things with people you know you’ll never see again – and they you. It’s safer somehow. And still a release.

These conversations are a highlight of any trip, and the top reason to not be in a hurry when you’re souvenir shopping. Or just even when you’re around other people in general.

              Our trip to Maui last month was no exception. But the conversations took on a whole new weight as the people we spoke with shared their experiences with the tragic fire in Lahaina last fall.

              Everybody had a story and many were anxious to share it.

              “Can I show you a photo of what’s left of my house?” asked one young father we met in the parking lot of the condo tower that was to us a vacation stop, but to him, a place to stay until he could figure out how to rebuild his life and his family home.

              “It helps me process this to show it,” he said, and as we looked at the cluttered moonscape of ground dotted with blackened sticks that once were 60-foot-tall trees, he told us about trying to escape with his family in his truck but having to abandon it and run for their lives. They made it. Many of their neighbors did not.

              “Thank you for being here,” he said, calming our fears that the trip we had planned long before the fire would hurt rather than help. “We need you to be here,” he said. “My friends need to pay their mortgages.”

              Like many we spoke with, the woman in the art gallery had lost her job when the fire burned the store where she’d worked. She had only just gotten this new job and was grateful.

              The man selling shirts at the outdoor market had a friend who’d gone back toward the fire to help others trapped in a building. He didn’t return.

              The woman at the canoe rental said she’d just been allowed in to see where her house had been. It was the first time in five months they could have access, but her husband didn’t want to go. She’d hoped to be able to find something in the ashes, but the ashes were 10 inches deep.

              Not everyone can talk about their losses. Not everyone wants to share.

              But when they do, our only job is to listen.

There are few things as rewarding or as interesting or as meaningful as listening.

Because when you listen, you learn and maybe you start to understand.

And maybe even you feel.

Thinking about what you're thinking about

              They are two simple questions, but they can make a surprisingly big difference.

              Even better, they are questions that can be asked entirely in your mind, making it possible to benefit from the answers without anyone ever knowing what happened.

              For me, the first one usually comes after I realize I’m fretting about something.

It is this: What am I thinking and feeling?

Asking that question gives me a chance to put a name to the emotions that are having an impact on my attitudes and maybe even actions.

I read somewhere some time ago, that humans are the only creatures that think about their thoughts.

This is, I think, a sign of intelligence. But also, a source of angst.

Sometimes our thoughts are a boon to our lives, sometimes they are not.

Take, for example, this summer’s family reunion.

After securing the location, I was coordinating the schedule, the meals, the activities.

And I was stressed.

Here is an example of the thoughts and feelings that were going through my head: Will everyone arrive safely? Will everyone get along? Will everyone have enough time for what they want to do? Will everyone be perturbed when I take too many pictures? Will anyone break their leg? Will we all get COVID? Will the room assignments offend? Will everyone be wearing the right colors for the group photo? Will the grandkids pull faces all through the photo shoot? Will the games I have planned bomb? Will the weather work with our plans? Should I plan more activities? Should I plan less. Am I packing the right clothes?

And if you’ve ever been in charge of a reunion, you know this is only a fraction of the thoughts and feelings that were swirling.

So I asked myself the second question, which is this: What do I want to be thinking and feeling?

The answers came just as quickly: I should be grateful to be getting my family together. I should be happy they could manage schedules and make us a priority. I should be comfortable knowing that because of our shared history and love, we can make it all work. I should be looking forward to sharing the love I have for them with them.

Something happens when you start to think about what you should be feeling instead of what your mind, with all its natural ability to creatively worry and fret, is more likely to be thinking.

You get calm. And happy. And maybe you even smile inside.

It works with getting up in the morning. It works when sitting through a meeting. It works when dealing with a difficult personality.

What am I thinking and feeling?

What do I want to be thinking and feeling?

And you might go from worried to excited, from bored to fascinated, from perturbed to grateful.

If we’re going to be thinking about what we’re thinking about, we might as well do it right.

And then we can be grateful for the peace of mind – and maybe even joy -- that follows.

Oh, and, P.S., we had the reunion. Nobody broke their leg.

 

 

 

 

What you learn when you keep trying

One of these days it might be necessary to admit to myself that it is becoming ever more likely that I will never be entirely fluent in French.

Despite the workshops, the workbooks, the CDs, the story books, the tapes, the emails, the classes and the trips I've dabbled in here and there over the years, I might not ever make it to conversant.

In my defense, this is not because I'm totally inept, though I may have lost a few connections in the brain - synapses or something - that younger language learners still have.

This is not because I haven't been motivated, though I'm equally motivated in about five other areas and spend equal dabbles of time on perhaps too large an array of projects.

This is simply because there are just too many French words and too many ways to string them together, some of which require too many ways of conjugating. And that's not even to mention that every noun is either male of female (car is feminine, taxi is masculine) and every adjective must be either male or female to match.

 

It may also be time to admit to myself that all those books in my basement that I printed thinking people would want to read them, may remain in my basement.

This is not because I haven't tried to find people to love them through bookstores and galleries and websites.

This is because ... I don't know why this is because. Or I don't want to admit I know why.

But not learning French and not selling books is not failing.

And that is because of all I've seen and done, all I've learned and felt, everyone I've met and every way I've grown in the process of trying.

I loved meeting the French people (all six of them), whose English was worse than my French so they listened long enough to try and figure out what I was saying.

I've loved opening my mind to a second language and developing a greater appreciation for another culture.

I'm glad I could learn more about my own language by studying another.

It's good to have a greater understanding of what others go through as they try to learn English (which not only has more words but has more exceptions to rules).

And just maybe I'm keeping a few more synapses in the brain functioning by continued studying and memorizing.

As for publishing a book, I loved when someone wrote to tell me the thoughts in my book had meaning to them or inspired them to do something or helped them recognize something meaningful they would otherwise have missed in their own lives.

And reading again the words penned in a different phase of life has kept the memories of that phase, and all its richness and all its challenges, alive.

Sometimes trying has its own reward.

Admitting that my dreams may be a bit out of reach, sometimes because of my own limits and sometimes because of things over which I have no control, will not make me quit trying.

I'm made of sterner, stubborner, more irrational stuff.

Not making it to the end of a journey doesn't make the sights you pass along the way any less worthwhile.

There is still a chance and only quitting would take that chance away.

No matter if it's likely or a stretch, I'm going for that chance.

First published in the Davis Clipper on March 14, 2013

Making it work with another try

By Louise R. Shaw           

                I’d been there with my family some years earlier and was anxious to share it with my new husband, even if it meant spending part of the day on a long drive up a winding road when we could be sitting on a beach.

                There are just some things worth driving long distances for and the overlook of the Na Pali Coast on the Hawaiian island of Kauai is one of them.

The Kalalau Lookout is 4,000-feet above sea level and the view into the ridges and peaks and valley below is nothing short of spectacular. The drive along Waimea Canyon, what has become known as “the Grand Canyon of the Pacific,” is also pretty breathtakingly amazing.

                We ascended, stopping at all lookouts, as is my want, and noticing as we did that more and more clouds were filling the sky.

                Four-thousand feet is pretty high up there. Even clouds are comfortable at 4,000 feet and sure enough, as we drove the last few hundred feet to the very end of the drive, we were enveloped in a cloud.

                And in that particular cloud, there were no views past the end of our arms, much less along the rugged cliffs of the Na Pali and down the Kalalau Valley to the ocean and beyond.

                It was a disappointment, but at least it wasn’t snowing like the time a few days earlier when we’d gotten up in the wee hours of the morning and driven up 10,000 feet to see the sunrise over Haleakala crater on Maui, just like everybody said you should.

Turns out you only should if you check the weather report first.

Sometimes you’re better off just sleeping in. And then sitting on a beach.

But we sighed and shrugged and tried not to be angry or disappointed and our nine-month-old marriage survived. And later we laughed and told the story and others laughed with us.

And now we are approaching our 42^nd year together and there have been all kinds of sighs and shrugs and trying not to be angry or disappointed and laughing and sharing and learning along the way.

Sometimes the views have been clouded in. Sometimes they have been spectacular.

We kept at it.

It was a full 35 years later when we next attempted the 18-mile drive from sea level on the south shore of Kauai to the overlook on the north.

This time we knew better. This time we checked the weather report (easier now with internet) and got up early and drove straight to the top, where the views were … true to expectation … spectacular.

And we hiked around in warm sunshine and I took pictures from every possible angle – twice. Or maybe four times.

As we finished our hike the clouds started to fill in, at first dancing around the trees and cliffs, then filling them all in.

On the way back to our car, we passed a young couple who’d just pulled in.

By now, there was nothing but cloud to see.

We greeted them but said nothing at all about the conditions.

Until they asked.

Was it clear this morning? she said.

Yes, we answered, watching them smile and shrug and try not to be disappointed.

We were you 35 years ago, we said.

We missed the view then too, but we came back.

I hope they will too.

Because after that first time you know better when to come. You know to wait for the right conditions. To start early. Not to be distracted.

And it works.

And when it doesn’t work the first time, it’s even better the second.

Just don’t give up.

 

                  

                 

               

Being there for the news

 By Louise R. Shaw

              I no longer fall for it when anybody within 10 feet of me says something like, “It’s impossible to find news that’s fair.”

              Now that I think about it, I never really fell for it. But I used to let it go.

              I no longer let it go.

              You can find news that’s fair.

              And you need to.

              You’ll find it in the news section of a newspaper or on a news broadcast of any network channel and most streaming channels.

              And you’ll be better off for finding it. For finding just a straight up news broadcast or newspaper with straight up news.

              Because you’ll know what’s happening in the world, in the nation, in your community, depending on the scope of your media.

              And then, if you want some color, some righteous indignation, some reinforcement of your own opinions, you can read the opinion sections or watch the cable pundits or scroll Facebook according to your tastes.

As long as you note the difference.

There is news and there are views and they might be just a page or a channel apart, but the way you read or hear them should be miles different.

Thanks to the day and time we live in, if you still aren’t sure you’re getting it straight, there’s another option.

              Now that we all have Internet and now that Google can find anything we want to know and YouTube can show us anything we want to see, we can get our news unfiltered.

              We often can go right to the source and see the event for ourselves.

              City council meetings. Presidential speeches. Awards ceremonies. U.N. talks. Press conferences.

              It’s one of the amazing positives of the time we live in and one we can take advantage of when we want to make sure we are getting things straight.

              You can’t watch everything, even on delay. That’s why news in newspapers and on broadcasts is so valuable. But only so much fits in a headline.

And only so much even fits in an article and it’s what the writer deems most important.

              I can say that because I used to write headlines and I used to write articles and I couldn’t include everything all the time.

There is so much that comes from observing the body language and hearing the words first-hand, much of it that can’t fit in a story.

              Pres. Biden’s speech about the nation’s efforts to thwart the newest strain of coronavirus is an example. The headline read, “President says it’s not like March 2020,” but I wanted to know more than that and more than what was included in the article that followed.

              A quick search on YouTube took me to the 22-minute speech, where I could hear the pleading in Pres. Biden’s voice one minute and the anger another, and feel the passion in his conclusion:

“I want to sincerely thank you for your perseverance, your courage, your countless acts of kindness, love and sacrifice during these last two years,” he said, after acknowledging we were tired and frustrated.

“Throughout our history we’ve been tested as a people and as a nation,” he said. “Through war and turmoil, when asked whether we’d be safe, whether it would be OK, whether we’d get back to who we are, we’ve always endured because remember there’s no challenge too big for America. I mean this -- from the bottom of my heart – no challenge. We’ve come through better and stronger because we stay together as the United States of America. That’s what we have to keep doing today. We can do this together, I guarantee you.”

Maybe the place you get your news didn’t include that. Maybe it wasn’t as important as the parts of the speech that outlined the latest steps being taken.

But it was important to me to hear that.

              Yes, we have news. Lots of it. And when it comes from the right source it is fair.  And we need it.

And then, when we choose, we can get every last word and every small nuance by going to the source. We can read it, watch it, relive it.

Because news matters. Learning for ourselves matters.

And getting it straight matters.

             

First published in the Davis Journal, December 2021

What you learn when you keep trying

By Louise R. Shaw

First published on March 14, 2013 in the Davis Clipper

One of these days it might be necessary to admit to myself that it is becoming ever more likely that I will never be entirely fluent in French.

Despite the workshops, the workbooks, the CDs, the story books, the tapes, the emails, the classes and the trips I've dabbled in here and there over the years, I might not ever make it to conversant.

In my defense, this is not because I'm totally inept, though I may have lost a few connections in the brain - synapses or something - that younger language students still have.

This is not because I haven't been motivated, though I'm equally motivated in about five other areas and spend equal dabbles of time on perhaps too large an array of projects.

This is simply because there are just too many French words and too many ways to string them together, some of which require too many ways of conjugating. And that's not even to mention that every noun is either male or female (car is feminine, taxi is masculine) and every adjective must be either masculine or feminine to match.

It may also be time to admit to myself that all those books in my basement that I printed thinking people would want to read them, may remain in my basement.

This is not because I haven't tried to find people to love them through bookstores and galleries and websites.

This is because ... I don't know why this is because. Or I don't want to admit I know why.

But not learning French and not selling books is not failing.

And that is because of all I've seen and done, all I've learned and felt, everyone I've met and every way I've grown in the process of trying.

I loved meeting the French people (all six of them), whose English was worse than my French so they listened long enough to try and figure out what I was saying.

I've loved opening my mind to a second language and developing a greater appreciation for another culture.

I'm glad I could learn more about my own language by studying another.

It's good to have a greater understanding of what others go through as they try to learn English (which not only has more words but has more exceptions to rules).

And just maybe I'm keeping a few more synapses in the brain functioning by continued studying and memorizing.

As for publishing a book, I loved when someone wrote to tell me the thoughts in my book had meaning to them or inspired them to do something or helped them recognize something meaningful they would otherwise have missed in their own lives.

And reading again the words penned in a different phase of life has kept the memories of that phase, and all its richness and all its challenges, alive.

Sometimes trying has its own reward.

Admitting that my dreams may be a bit out of reach, sometimes because of my own limits and sometimes because of things over which I have no control, will not make me quit trying.

I'm made of sterner, stubboner, more irrational stuff.

Not making it to the end of a journey doesn't make the sights you pass along the way any less worthwhile.

There is still a chance and only quitting would take that chance away.

No matter if it's likely or a stretch, I'm going for that chance.

 

 

When it hits you

It's been three years!! It is time to share again. 

This column first appeared in the Davis Journal in January, 2021. I hope it gave the Davis County readers something to think about, and now I am sharing it with you. 

I have been publishing a column in Davis County's newspaper for more than 10 years. My messages cover everything from politics to people, gifts to gratitude. I hope to share a few more with you, some current, some past.

Please enjoy ...   

In This Together: When it hits you

Jan 21, 2021 11:09AM ● By Louise R. Shaw

Every once in a while, it hits you, how much things have changed.

It hits you when you see the photo of your granddaughter waiting in line for her kindergarten class to start, standing six feet away from the other students. Each with a mask on.

It hits when you have to push the “unmute” button before anyone will hear what you’re saying.

It hits you when you’re sitting at your computer watching a ballet, dancers having been taped performing on the street instead of in a theater, their faces covered by masks that match their costumes, accompanied by a chorus singing from little squares on your monitor.

It hits you when you need to decide what to do at home another night because the restaurants aren’t safe and your friends have been exposed to someone who’s been sick.

And then you kind of get a twinge inside. A twinge because your granddaughter isn’t hugging and smiling with her little friends. And because those dancers can’t smile at their audience or hear their applause. And because you don’t have a grandchild on your lap or a friend across the table.

There has been a lot of twinging going on lately.

But those twinges over those little sacrifices are nothing compared to the punch in the gut you get when you hear of a group that picketed the home of a government official who was trying to keep them healthy by establishing safety protocols.

Or when you hear of someone getting a sickness that could kill them because someone else refused to wear a mask.

Or when you see someone walking around the grocery store without a mask, knowing they wore it to get in and their defiance is nothing short of dishonest.

There is a lot that we’ve had to adjust to, and some of us have done better than others.

Kindergarteners don’t seem to mind at all. But too many grown-ups have shown us their “doesn’t play well with others” side.

More disheartening than the response to the battle to contain the coronavirus, is the battle to restore civility in our country.

When you see a woman harass a United States Senator in an airport, for example, you get a twinge.

That kind of behavior didn’t used to be acceptable, much less something one would be so proud of they’d broadcast it online.

And when you see angry protestors attack the U.S. Capitol after being whipped to a frenzy by the president of the United States, you get a punch in the gut. And the heart.

Things have changed. 

We’re the only ones who can change them back.

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