[Mea Culpa:  If you’re paying real close attention, you’ll notice I’ve deleted a recent post titled “Respect is Learned.”  In the post I told a story about one of my daughters without getting informed consent from her.  She asked me to remove it. ]

From Per Petterson’s novel, Out Stealing Horses, page 73:

“People like it when you tell them things, in suitable portions, in a modest, intimate tone, and they think they know you, but they do not, they know about you, for what they are let in on are facts, not feelings, not what your opinion is about anything at all, not how what has happened to you and how all the decisions you have made have turned you into who you are.  What they do is they fill in with their own feelings and opinions, and assumptions, and they compose a new life which has precious little to do with yours, and that lets you off the hook.”

In a beautifully written book, this is one of my favorite passages.  I often feel people know about me in the exact way Petterson describes.  People I interact with sometimes fill in with their own feelings and opinions, and assumptions; they compose a different life.  But if I’m honest with myself, I have to acknowledge I sometimes do that as well.

In the modern era in which we live, is impatient, incomplete listening inevitable as Petterson’s central character intimates, or can we learn to slow down, listen more carefully and patiently, and not fill in with our own feelings and opinions and assumptions?  Can we develop perspective-taking skills or are we destined to think what’s true for us is automatically true for everyone else too?

And does the burden for more in-depth communication lie exclusively with the listener?  What happens if people tire of others’ tendencies to compose a different life for them and gradually give up trying to communicate more than facts?  This happens to me.  When people fill in with their own feelings and opinions and assumptions, I consciously keep things superficial.  I suppose that’s true for everyone to differing degrees.

We should strive to listen more patiently and actively to those we interact with, while simultaneously persevering in communicating more than facts.

I created this blog because I don’t want to give up on close meaningful friendships simply because modernization has sped everything up and possibly compromised our listening skills.

On the surface, blogging is impersonal and superficial, but writing is a way for me to slow things down and reveal more than facts.  Whether that contributes to closer, more meaningful friendships, time will tell.  I hope so. 

The quality or state of being alone or remote from society. 

The fam is on vacation visiting friends in Sweden.  I opted for solitude.  I’m somewhat enigmatic in that I enjoy interacting with my students, my family, and my friends, but simultaneously have a deep-seated, profound need to spend time alone.

My need for solitude has been tough at times for L to accept.  I appreciate that twenty years in, she’s getting it.  “Do you want to go to Sweden with us?  It would be more fun with you.”  “I don’t think so.”  “Okay.”  

So I alternate between being social and a loner, which may not be as paradoxical as it first appears.  I think of those tendencies as competing drives like the ebb and flow of the tides.  Without ebbing, or withdrawing from social environments, I wouldn’t have any sense of self or any insights into much of anything, and without any sense of self or insight, I don’t think I’d have much to contribute to social settings once re-engaged.  Being alone enables me to recharge my “human-interaction” battery.  Social interaction takes energy that can be invigorating, but sometimes for me, there’s a net loss of energy.

I opted for solitude because the last seven weeks have been intensely social.  The fam and I have gone from living four semi-disparate lives in a large home to living closely overlapping lives in an apartment.  And the next two months promise even more intense family time.  So this is a five day-long intermission from which all of us will benefit.

I know what I’m about to admit will cost me, but c’est la vie.  I like watching Booknotes on CSPAN.  In particular, I like listening to authors talk about their writing process.  A few years ago I was watching a Booknote interview with a writer who also taught writing at some university.  The interviewer asked the author, “What’s the single most important lesson you try to convey to your students?”  His answer was unexpected, but brilliant.  “Writing and solitude are inseparable.  Being a writer is a solitary existence.”  He went on to share his opinion that most of his students weren’t nearly comfortable enough with solitude to excel as writers.

Most writing instructors focus on the technical aspects of the process.  Solid fundamentals are important, but this author conceived of writing as a craft that is impossible to hone independent of self-understanding and insight.  Once again, this makes me think about personal technology.  I suspect people are growing less and less comfortable with solitude.  This may be particularly true of the youngest and most wired among us.  For example, like all 12 year olds probably, my youngest daughter bounces from friend to activity to friend to activity and back again.  Often, when no friends are available and there’s no activity to participate in, she goes into “What now?” mode.  

If my hunch is accurate that many young people are relatively uncomfortable with solitude, I wonder if it’s a result of adult-initiated over-scheduling.  If young people go from school, to sport1, to music, to sport2, to youth group or community service, and back again, when do they get comfortable spending quiet time by themselves?  And if they’re uncomfortable spending quiet time by themselves, how do they become introspective?  And if they don’t become introspective, how do they develop a distinct sense of self?  And without developing a distinct sense of self, how do they avoid mindlessly following the lead of their peers and the popular culture?

And guarding against over-scheduling is only part of the challenge.   Remember how idealistically I described my vision for our “Northern Retreat” in an earlier entry, in essence, the four of us spending inordinate amounts of time connecting on a deeper level.  In part, that’s been true, but note to self: wireless internet has radically changed things in the last five years.  Picture this.  On one laptop, one half of the family is in one room watching “America’s Next Top Model” on-line.  On another laptop, another member is watching an NCAA college basketball tournament game.  The third laptop doesn’t have a wireless card so the fourth family member is, gasp, reading a book. 

Simply put, there are differing degrees of solitude, some forms more enriching than others.  Meaningful solitude involves more than being alone.  Are you as alone if you’re by yourself listening to your iPod, watching “America’s Next Top Model” on-line, instant messaging, or all three at the same time?  Sometimes, when the stars align and I get an hour or two at home by myself, I don’t take full advantage because I watch a sports event for awhile and squander the remaining time on-line. 

However, a break of this length means I can take advantage of dinner and cross-country skiing invitations, watch some bball on-line, trim my email inbox, and still have plenty of time left over for being quiet, reflecting on things, writing, resting, and recharging.

And with each passing day, I’m looking more forward to my family’s return.