I don't have a problem with silence. Despite what some people think about me, I don't have to fill it. But I never realized until recently that silence can be hostile. I have experienced companionable silence. It happens in my house most days, and used to happen in my office all the time. Broken by a comment, or a joke, or a piece of shared information, the silence served to encourage everyone to get work accomplished in a collegial environment.
These days, silence in my office is hostile. It is rigidly maintained and enforced. It discourages cooperation and collaboration, it precludes knowledge sharing and growth, it is driving away team members, and strengthening the divides, rather than bridging them.
Silence filled with music is still silence. But the need to bridge the silence is becoming acute, and it takes more than one person to accomplish the task. In this case it takes two; one to say "Good morning," the other to respond.
Can we please start to bridge the gap? For everyone's sake?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Thoughts on civility
I have been thinking a lot about civility lately. What it means, and what effect it has on our daily interactions with others.
There are numerous definitions online, but the one that struck home was Merriam-Webster's "a : civilized conduct; especially : courtesy, politeness b : a polite act or expression."
Being civil to others is a sign of maturity. That means opening doors for someone, or holding the door and allowing someone to walk through first -- not just men to women, but women to women, and women to men. It means holding the elevator door, and not talking on your cellphone (or texting) in a movie.
Acts of civility set us apart from other animals, and unfortunately, it is something that seems to be disappearing from certain parts off society. Pushing and shoving and cutting in line, the me first attitude is not restricted to the Me First generation.
Perhaps my lament for the death of civility is driven by recent experiences, and by a creeping desire to be uncivil that I am seeing in myself. It is not a pleasant feeling when I find myself wanting to stab the "Close" button on the elevator, or I am frustrated because someone else nabbed the last good seat on the metro train (not the last seat, just the last good one).
So what can I do to return civility to my life. I can make an effort to hold the elevator door; to offer my seat on the metro to someone older than I; to hold the door for someone whose arms are full; and to continue to say good morning and how are you to the person who never responds and never returns the greeting.
But if it drives that person crazy that I speak to them at all, am I being civil by saying "good morning," or is that the ultimate act of incivility!
There are numerous definitions online, but the one that struck home was Merriam-Webster's "a : civilized conduct; especially : courtesy, politeness b : a polite act or expression."
Being civil to others is a sign of maturity. That means opening doors for someone, or holding the door and allowing someone to walk through first -- not just men to women, but women to women, and women to men. It means holding the elevator door, and not talking on your cellphone (or texting) in a movie.
Acts of civility set us apart from other animals, and unfortunately, it is something that seems to be disappearing from certain parts off society. Pushing and shoving and cutting in line, the me first attitude is not restricted to the Me First generation.
Perhaps my lament for the death of civility is driven by recent experiences, and by a creeping desire to be uncivil that I am seeing in myself. It is not a pleasant feeling when I find myself wanting to stab the "Close" button on the elevator, or I am frustrated because someone else nabbed the last good seat on the metro train (not the last seat, just the last good one).
So what can I do to return civility to my life. I can make an effort to hold the elevator door; to offer my seat on the metro to someone older than I; to hold the door for someone whose arms are full; and to continue to say good morning and how are you to the person who never responds and never returns the greeting.
But if it drives that person crazy that I speak to them at all, am I being civil by saying "good morning," or is that the ultimate act of incivility!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
If you can read, thank a tutor, or maybe Harry Potter
My youngest son, now 23 is dyslexic. His isn't the traditional issue of reversing letters (think of the jokes about dogs and gods) or transposition (pod and bod), but something called "sound symbol recognition." For the most part, readers don't sound out the words they see, they know them, having learned hundreds of sight words along the path to fluent reading. For most readers, acquiring a new sight word takes a few repetitions. The more complex the word, the more repetitions, but we get it after a few repeats, certainly less than a dozen or so. My poor son, on the other hand can take 50 or more repetitions for each sight word. His learning disability was once described in terms of running a road race, except on a stationary treadmill. You are running just as hard as the other runners, but you may never make it to the finish line.
Although my son was identified as having a learning issue in nursery school, his wonderful parents didn't believe it was a significant problem until he was in 2nd grade when he was tested for the first time. And thus began the rounds of in school and out of school therapies. We tried many methods, and IEPs, and accommodations, until finally we were directed to T. The hours with T weren't easy, and in order to make it work, tutoring had to be 2-4 days a week. A large burden for a small child. My son never really liked the sessions, although he tolerated them, mostly. Only occasionally would he rebel, throw a temper tantrum, and storm out of a session. But T persevered, through set backs and rages, and together T and my son worked there way through the series of books called the Wilson Reading Program and out the other side. I still remember 7th grade, and the day he first picked up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, a book that his entire school (The Lab School of Washington) was reading in one way or another, and read for pleasure.
Since that first day with Harry Potter, my son has read fantasy and adventure, branching into Clive Cussler and other authors occasionally, but coming back to one of his favorites, R. A. Salvatore, any time a new book is published. But what he reads for pleasure isn't what is important. It is the fact that he reads, and enjoys reading. For that, in no small part, I must thank T.
I was in the library recently, using it as an extension of my office to get some work done. I was sitting around the corner from a desk where a tutor was working with a young boy, 7 or 8. I listened to the instructions and sophisticated language of the tutor as she taught the child about phonemes and the formation of sounds in the mouth, and heard once again the delicately accented English of my son's former tutor. At first I could not believe that after 12 years, I would run into T in this fashion, but sure enough, when I stood and looked around the corner, I recognized her, and she me. She sent regards to my son, and was delighted to here of his current activities, a junior studying fashion design in New York, and sent her regards. I, in turn, told her that she deserved much of the credit for the fact that my son now reads for pleasure. I am not sure she was convinced, but she accepted the compliment anyway.
But I think now, as I thought then, that my son enjoys reading today for two reasons, T and the hard work they did together, and J.K. Rowling. Thank you both!
Although my son was identified as having a learning issue in nursery school, his wonderful parents didn't believe it was a significant problem until he was in 2nd grade when he was tested for the first time. And thus began the rounds of in school and out of school therapies. We tried many methods, and IEPs, and accommodations, until finally we were directed to T. The hours with T weren't easy, and in order to make it work, tutoring had to be 2-4 days a week. A large burden for a small child. My son never really liked the sessions, although he tolerated them, mostly. Only occasionally would he rebel, throw a temper tantrum, and storm out of a session. But T persevered, through set backs and rages, and together T and my son worked there way through the series of books called the Wilson Reading Program and out the other side. I still remember 7th grade, and the day he first picked up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, a book that his entire school (The Lab School of Washington) was reading in one way or another, and read for pleasure.
Since that first day with Harry Potter, my son has read fantasy and adventure, branching into Clive Cussler and other authors occasionally, but coming back to one of his favorites, R. A. Salvatore, any time a new book is published. But what he reads for pleasure isn't what is important. It is the fact that he reads, and enjoys reading. For that, in no small part, I must thank T.
I was in the library recently, using it as an extension of my office to get some work done. I was sitting around the corner from a desk where a tutor was working with a young boy, 7 or 8. I listened to the instructions and sophisticated language of the tutor as she taught the child about phonemes and the formation of sounds in the mouth, and heard once again the delicately accented English of my son's former tutor. At first I could not believe that after 12 years, I would run into T in this fashion, but sure enough, when I stood and looked around the corner, I recognized her, and she me. She sent regards to my son, and was delighted to here of his current activities, a junior studying fashion design in New York, and sent her regards. I, in turn, told her that she deserved much of the credit for the fact that my son now reads for pleasure. I am not sure she was convinced, but she accepted the compliment anyway.
But I think now, as I thought then, that my son enjoys reading today for two reasons, T and the hard work they did together, and J.K. Rowling. Thank you both!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Temper
I have always known that I had a hair-trigger temper. Fortunately my anger disappears just as quickly. Once I have exploded and vented, I am calm again and ready to go on. My family knows about that hair-trigger temper too. I can get blisteringly angry in a nano-second. Screaming angry. Red in the face angry. Slamming doors angry. Throwing things angry.
I do manage to restrain myself, for the most part, from actually damaging things, though I once threw a wallet at my husband. Lesson to learn? Never throw your wallet at your husband in the kitchen unless you are absolutely certain that the cards are well secured. I was fishing items out from under the refrigerator for days. I also once hit a pane of glass with the edge of a fist. I was lucky I didn't severely injure myself. I had to replace that pane of glass (the center one in a nine-pane front door) with a piece of plexi-glass. Did you know plexi-glass melts? Neither did I until years later when I had a major house fire and that pane of glass melted.
However both of those incidents were more than 20 years ago. While my husband regularly accuses me of yelling, I haven't gotten dangerously angry in a long time. Certainly not at home, and of course that slamming doors, screaming, red in the face anger never came out at work. I kept it in control I wouldn't say I was the calmest person in the world, but even provoked I was never livid in the way I occasionally am at home. I always thought I knew the reason. I felt safe at home. My family was going to love me and respect me no matter what I did. My colleagues might/probably wouldn't understand.
So why then have I reached the point of rage at least twice in the past month? It is absolutely inappropriate. It is damaging my work reputation. It is destructive to my relationships with my colleagues. It is self-destructive, and needs to stop.
Thoughts? Valium?
I do manage to restrain myself, for the most part, from actually damaging things, though I once threw a wallet at my husband. Lesson to learn? Never throw your wallet at your husband in the kitchen unless you are absolutely certain that the cards are well secured. I was fishing items out from under the refrigerator for days. I also once hit a pane of glass with the edge of a fist. I was lucky I didn't severely injure myself. I had to replace that pane of glass (the center one in a nine-pane front door) with a piece of plexi-glass. Did you know plexi-glass melts? Neither did I until years later when I had a major house fire and that pane of glass melted.
However both of those incidents were more than 20 years ago. While my husband regularly accuses me of yelling, I haven't gotten dangerously angry in a long time. Certainly not at home, and of course that slamming doors, screaming, red in the face anger never came out at work. I kept it in control I wouldn't say I was the calmest person in the world, but even provoked I was never livid in the way I occasionally am at home. I always thought I knew the reason. I felt safe at home. My family was going to love me and respect me no matter what I did. My colleagues might/probably wouldn't understand.
So why then have I reached the point of rage at least twice in the past month? It is absolutely inappropriate. It is damaging my work reputation. It is destructive to my relationships with my colleagues. It is self-destructive, and needs to stop.
Thoughts? Valium?
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