The Button Collector

Imagine being handed a jar full of words printed on little strips of paper. Imagine being told that your communication could only include those words, although you would be given the freedom to arrange them in any order that you choose.

You could slide "petty" next to "girl." You could make a word train out of "I," "need," "potatoes," and tack on a "please" for the caboose. You might even be able to formulate "I," "want," "to," "hibernate," if "hibernate" was one of the choices. But, if you didn't have "blanket" or a word that meant that, it would be sort of hard to ask for one. And if you didn't have "rickrack," you wouldn't be able to say, "I would like you to make me a shirt hemmed with rickrack."

Overall, the purview of communication would be pretty limited.

Right now, at this time in my life, I feel limited in what I allow myself to communicate. I feel like I've exhausted the options available from the jar, and that the jar was full of discount words, anyway. I want to say "I think that math investigations suck," but I murmur, "Ummmmhmmm" in response to the assistant principal extolling the program's virtues. I want to tell a girlfriend that I am tired of her constant off-color remarks, but I am silent, papercuts in my stomach from the words flickering, trying to get out.

This affects my writing. Instead, of putting all of my suppressed utterances into a story or an essay, I use it as proof that my ideas don't count, that I am not entitled to a voice. It is awful to feel that your own opinions have no value. I will even avoid leaving comments on blogs because I tell myself, Who cares what you think?

So, I am starting, today, to speak little truths. To be careful in the words that I select, and to arrange them in the purest way.

I might start out with "No, thank you" or "I disagree" but I will not limit myself to the words in the little jar that I have been using, over and over again, during the past year.

I want to say: I'm not comfortable with what you're saying. That's rude. It's not my responsibility. That's hypocritical. What's your point in telling me that I look tired? Here's my idea. That's ignorant. Who cares? I agree. I like that. This is what I want. I hate that. That's not right. Oh, you're amazing. Let's go. I'd rather eat seafood. I want a second helping. I'll pass on the sweet potato-pear bisque. Your poetry changes me. I will not tolerate a bully.

I'm tired of shortchanging my accomplishments because someone else is depressed about their own. I'm tired of pretending that my husband isn't exemplary, just because a friend's marriage isn't where she wants it to be. I'm tired of believing that I am not entitled to expectations/hopes/desires because I have a decent life.

I want to take risks with the use of language again, and I'm going to.

Time to recycle the word jar. Or, to start collecting buttons.