Count on Counting

I’d bet money, marbles or chalk that every mother in America advises her children to count to ten before speaking.

My mother certainly did.  Her advice to count usually followed on the heels of her admonishment not to say anything about or to someone unless it was positive.  Counting to ten should have afforded us the chance to consider the tone and content of what we had to say.  I’m not sure I succeeded in censoring myself or even monitoring my tongue.  Usually, I’m afraid, I spent the time sharpening what I perceived to be razor wit.  In my defense, I had four brothers!  Sometimes clever, snappy barbs were my only protection from them.

In my doddering middle age, (she says, chuckling), I’ve recalled my mother’s advice.  I’m not sure ten is high enough for me.  I’m finding myself counting slowly, as we did in our childhood games of hide and seek:  “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi….”.  Between beats, I try to ask myself those pivotal questions, “Is what you want to say necessary?  What interest does it serve?  Can you edit it to make it content neutral? Non-Inflammatory?”

The other day, I wanted to mention that I did something in a different way than the person with whom I was speaking.  My first version:  “Well, you could do it that way, but I’ve always thought a better way was…”.  One Mississippi, two Mississippi.  Now I asked myself, “Is my way better? And if so, does it matter that it’s better?”  Second version:  “I”ve never done it that way, I think we should….”  Three Mississippi, four Mississippi…Why “should” we do it the way I’ve always done it?  Maybe the way I’ve always done it is expendable, not the most effective way, or just plain dorky.  By five Mississippi, I decided to let the issue alone and do it the other person’s way.

The subject isn’t important.  I’ve edited that out in case this individual reads my blog.  This person can smile, decide that I’m referencing a conversation in which this person participated, and feel pleased.  More importantly, anybody with whom I’ve argued about the way in which something “ought to” be done can think:  “Well duh, girl.  Glad you got over yourself.”

You might think that this approach to conversation makes Jill  a dull girl.  To the contrary; while the speed with which I manipulate these cogitations needs a bit of work, I think this orientation will actually have the net result of enabling me to separate the important from the inconsequential.  What is expendable should be expended.  That concept allows me to save debate for the most critical instances, and, like crying “Wolf!”  when done only under actual threat, my insistence might well be seen as noteworthy due to its rarity.

I’m going to be counting to ten, slowly, until I get the hang of saving my contrariness for times when I really want to do things my way.  Or when someone is about to step in front of a speeding bus.  Metaphorical or otherwise.

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