He allowed little to pass through his mouth. This was not only because he lived alone. It was, he thought, better to remain quiet. Warnings had been issued from many sources showing that much talk leads to trouble. Indeed, privacy was his closest companion, and his gravest defender. Perhaps a better word now would be deceiver. He felt as much, anyway. Over the years, he had built his life on the premise that actions speak louder than words, and while he saw that this was true, he failed to recognize the danger of too much privacy: isolation. Everything he read and heard in the media told him to man up, to make something of himself through grit, and now that he had seemingly done this, he was alone with his accomplishments. Abstract trophies adorned the mantle of his mind, collecting the dust of stasis and time.
In fact, he was afraid. He knew that none of the things he had achieved mattered now, and he felt the pride in them melt away and leave him exposed. “There is nothing left,” he said aloud, and sunk down for a moment, as though dodging a torrent of make-believe criticism, feeling that the world would mock him if it had heard. In fact, what kept him silent was judgment. He was more sensitive to others’ opinions than anyone he knew, and it showed in the behavior he exhibited around colleagues, family, and acquaintances. It was safer, in his mind, to stay quiet, to limit opinions—even to those closest to him—and to speak with his hands. Looked at differently, though, what he truly did was practice cowardice, avoiding risk for the sake of self-preservation. Never learning what it meant to trust others, he thought only of what criticism could come from his words, and not what good.
Some of his experiences confirmed these beliefs. There was the time in high school when he tried to speak up in defense of a kid being taunted for his clothes. Far from ending the taunts, he quickly learned that they only redirected them his way. There was the moment in a grocery store when a girl smiled at him and, for once in his life mustering the courage to approach her and say hello, found her laughing at him when he said his mom would let him borrow the car for a date. There was that incident with his friends, who, on learning of his aversion to horror movies, called him weak and left without him. All these events only justified his belief that he truly was alone and could never trust others with his words.
He stood. Looking out of his front window, he saw children playing across the street and heard a dog barking as a mailman moved from house to house. Trees were shedding their leaves again and the weather grew cooler. Fall felt like change to the rest of the world, but to him, it was only more of the same.
Something had to change.
He concluded that the simplest way to begin that change was to do so physically. He knew that his isolation was a choice, first, of posture, so he began here. At first, this change was almost imperceptible. It took great effort to lift his head and eyes from the comfort of the ground as he walked. Soon enough, however, he was not just looking straight ahead, but making eye contact with others. Logically, what followed were smiles, nods, and verbal greetings that lifted him from his own thoughts and made others more than objects of his imagination. Indeed, in his world, he could make of others whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was to make them hard, critical judges who showed no quarter at any slight mistake he may have made. Now that the young man spoke with them, those others formed their own words, expressed their own opinions, and became themselves.
With that initial, small victory came countless more substantial ones. The young man made it a goal to strike up conversation with one stranger per day to face his fear of rejection. In doing so, he was exposed to that rejection in sometimes painful ways: some would acknowledge the young man but end the conversation quickly, while others asked who he was or simply walked away with no response. Still, the young man had victories. He held lighthearted or thoughtful conversations with people of all ages and stages of life, so that with practice, the young man felt a sense of comfort in talking to others, even those he did not know.
With this newfound confidence came a surprising side effect. In talking to--or, rather, mostly listening to--others, he began to learn a universal truth: regardless of age, social status, and the like, people were in pain. It didn't take long in some conversations to learn of the confusion, fears, guilt, and hopelessness that many people felt.
It was this understanding that led to a diversion in his efforts toward growth: he found purpose. In their conversations, complete strangers would remark on his ability to listen, and he felt great satisfaction at having eased the pain of those who heretofore felt alone in their struggles. He made it his goal now to listen full-time, and so began a long journey toward becoming a licensed therapist.
The young man had started as an introspective, isolated young person, but grew in talents he did not know he possessed to become to others a helper and friend. He had, in fact, surpassed his desire to end his isolation to become something completely unexpected: a man whose life touched the lives of others to help them see the truth he first needed to recognize in himself: that each of us possesses a unique shade of beauty that is his or hers alone, a beauty only he or she can provide to help redeem a world often dragged through ugliness and hurt. Now he knew that he was part of a larger purpose, one that extended beyond the physical world to reach into the emotional and spiritual ones. Indeed, the young man had changed, but he had also helped to change the lives of others.
In fact, he was afraid. He knew that none of the things he had achieved mattered now, and he felt the pride in them melt away and leave him exposed. “There is nothing left,” he said aloud, and sunk down for a moment, as though dodging a torrent of make-believe criticism, feeling that the world would mock him if it had heard. In fact, what kept him silent was judgment. He was more sensitive to others’ opinions than anyone he knew, and it showed in the behavior he exhibited around colleagues, family, and acquaintances. It was safer, in his mind, to stay quiet, to limit opinions—even to those closest to him—and to speak with his hands. Looked at differently, though, what he truly did was practice cowardice, avoiding risk for the sake of self-preservation. Never learning what it meant to trust others, he thought only of what criticism could come from his words, and not what good.
Some of his experiences confirmed these beliefs. There was the time in high school when he tried to speak up in defense of a kid being taunted for his clothes. Far from ending the taunts, he quickly learned that they only redirected them his way. There was the moment in a grocery store when a girl smiled at him and, for once in his life mustering the courage to approach her and say hello, found her laughing at him when he said his mom would let him borrow the car for a date. There was that incident with his friends, who, on learning of his aversion to horror movies, called him weak and left without him. All these events only justified his belief that he truly was alone and could never trust others with his words.
He stood. Looking out of his front window, he saw children playing across the street and heard a dog barking as a mailman moved from house to house. Trees were shedding their leaves again and the weather grew cooler. Fall felt like change to the rest of the world, but to him, it was only more of the same.
Something had to change.
He concluded that the simplest way to begin that change was to do so physically. He knew that his isolation was a choice, first, of posture, so he began here. At first, this change was almost imperceptible. It took great effort to lift his head and eyes from the comfort of the ground as he walked. Soon enough, however, he was not just looking straight ahead, but making eye contact with others. Logically, what followed were smiles, nods, and verbal greetings that lifted him from his own thoughts and made others more than objects of his imagination. Indeed, in his world, he could make of others whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was to make them hard, critical judges who showed no quarter at any slight mistake he may have made. Now that the young man spoke with them, those others formed their own words, expressed their own opinions, and became themselves.
With that initial, small victory came countless more substantial ones. The young man made it a goal to strike up conversation with one stranger per day to face his fear of rejection. In doing so, he was exposed to that rejection in sometimes painful ways: some would acknowledge the young man but end the conversation quickly, while others asked who he was or simply walked away with no response. Still, the young man had victories. He held lighthearted or thoughtful conversations with people of all ages and stages of life, so that with practice, the young man felt a sense of comfort in talking to others, even those he did not know.
With this newfound confidence came a surprising side effect. In talking to--or, rather, mostly listening to--others, he began to learn a universal truth: regardless of age, social status, and the like, people were in pain. It didn't take long in some conversations to learn of the confusion, fears, guilt, and hopelessness that many people felt.
It was this understanding that led to a diversion in his efforts toward growth: he found purpose. In their conversations, complete strangers would remark on his ability to listen, and he felt great satisfaction at having eased the pain of those who heretofore felt alone in their struggles. He made it his goal now to listen full-time, and so began a long journey toward becoming a licensed therapist.
The young man had started as an introspective, isolated young person, but grew in talents he did not know he possessed to become to others a helper and friend. He had, in fact, surpassed his desire to end his isolation to become something completely unexpected: a man whose life touched the lives of others to help them see the truth he first needed to recognize in himself: that each of us possesses a unique shade of beauty that is his or hers alone, a beauty only he or she can provide to help redeem a world often dragged through ugliness and hurt. Now he knew that he was part of a larger purpose, one that extended beyond the physical world to reach into the emotional and spiritual ones. Indeed, the young man had changed, but he had also helped to change the lives of others.
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