Any day now, Congress will be voting on plans to reduce or eliminate the yearly U.S. federal deficit and increase the nation’s debt limit. I called Senator Barbara Boxer, one of my senators, to urge her to oppose any spending cuts that balance the budget by cutting social services programs providing a safety net for the poorest here in the U.S. and around the world. I also urged her to support bills that would increase revenue (i.e., raise taxes) as part of a balanced deal to decrease deficits.
At least that’s what I was trying to tell her. What my ears heard my mouth say into the telephone was a garbled spaghetti of words after I quite clearly said who I was and where I lived. Whichever aide listens to the message will know that I’m passionate about the deficit; he or she just won’t know whether I’m opposing or supporting opposing cuts to welfare programs and increasing taxes.
The frustrating part is that I even had an information sheet in front of me and had left a message with my Congressman just a few minutes earlier. The difference was that I was directly talking with one of my Congressman’s aides then rather than to a device that was only recording my voice for later playback. While talking to a human being, I could ask to make sure the aide understood what I was saying or if I needed to clarify something. With the machine, I didn’t have that opportunity.
I don’t know whyI often get tongue-tied talking to a machine. Often when I’m recording a message, I get self-conscious and embarrassed. Maybe it’s the editor in me trying to stop the words before he’s had a chance to review them. My mind usually knows what it wants to communicate but by the time the words have left my mouth they are jumbled like driftwood on a storm-battered beach.
The solution is obvious: practice before leaving a message. I did. I guess just not enough. Since I knew I would be calling and would have an information sheet in front of me, I figured a couple practices would be sufficient. Sometimes in the past a couple dry runs was enough, but not this time.
I console myself that I’m a writer, not a speaker. With writing I can dump my words onto paper or into memory and move them around. I can re-word thoughts, delete some ideas and expand others. I can play with the words until I’m happy with them–or at least know the message they carry has been clarified.
Speech is different. Spoken words are recorded in a place I can’t edit. They are recorded in the order I spoke them and cannot be changed. I can add more words to clarify meanings, but I can’t change the original words.
But, there’s another difference. While written words can have incredible longevity, they lack the emotional power of spoken words. Reading a great speech is not nearly as moving as hearing a great orator speak the same words.
Sam Daley-Harris, the founder of RESULTS, said, “You’re not dangerous until you can speak the issues.” He’s got a point. I’ve written many letters to the editor. Some have been published, most have not. A few op-eds of mine have been published and I’ve even inspired a small handful of editorials. These are not small feats, but when it comes to inspiring action, I think they shadows compared to well-spoken words.
The caveat is that well-spoken words have to be just that–well-spoken. Diffident recitations of garbled facts muffled in nervousness may spark flickering candles in listeners. Declarations of personal beliefs and experiences spark bonfires.
To some people, declarations come easy. Some people have self-confidence and an extrovert’s booming personality. For others, declarations require careful consideration and practice. Like a pump that must be primed, some mouths require a few, or many, dry runs before the words cascade like a late-spring mountain waterfall.
I’m definitely in that latter group of people. While I dislike spending the time practicing, I can see I’m going to have to.