I wish it were possible to gather all my online friends in person to sit around one big table—hearing each other’s voices and laughter, connecting in each other’s presence beyond just our written words.

But I know that’s not possible, so I’ve come to appreciate online gatherings via Zoom (or any video calling platform) as the next best thing to that dream. It’s a way we can still find connection, encouragement, and even moments of transformation together in real time.

This month’s Share 4 Somethings reflects on what I’ve loved, learned, experienced, and released—all through the lens of online community. I’m linking it all up with Jenn.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something I loved

• AUTUMN EQUINOX REFLECTIONS  

Last Monday on the first day of autumn, I joined a circle of women online to celebrate the shift into fall. Together, we found gratitude for what has ripened in us, and shared hope for who we are still becoming.

The simple act of pausing to mark a season—with some friends I knew already and with others I was meeting for the first time from all around the United States—reminded me that gratitude grows deeper when it’s shared. We then created a group text and a Marco Polo group so we could remain connected even after the Zoom call ended.

As fall begins, maybe ask yourself, too: What is one thing I want to release? And one thing I want to carry forward?

 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something I learned

• SUPPORT FOR MOMS

On Tuesday morning, another online call connected me with a small group of mothers of adult children. We’ve begun meeting regularly to talk about expectations in this stage of life, inevitable disappointments that surface, and the hypervigilance that can creep in when life doesn’t unfold quite like we’d planned.

Being with this group of moms, hearing them speak honestly about their own experiences, is both comforting and clarifying. Parenting doesn’t end when children are grown—it just shifts. And the gift of community is learning from each other and feeling less alone as we go.

What stage of motherhood have you found the easiest so far? The most challenging? Do you have community (in person and/or online) to help you?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something that went well

• CONVERSATIONS ON JUSTICE

Sometimes it’s easier to find your people around a certain topic when you have the whole internet to choose from.

Later in the week, I joined an online book club of death penalty abolitionists to discuss Arbitrary Death: A Prosecutor’s Perspective on the Death Penalty by Rick Unklesbay. Listening to the insights of others reminded me that growth often comes by paying attention to perspectives outside my own.

If you’re curious to learn more, I highly recommend these books:

• Executing Grace: How the Death Penalty Killed Jesus and Why It’s Killing Us by Shane Claiborne, one of my top 9 books I read in 2024
• Ghosts Over the Boiler: Voices from Alabama’s Death Row by Project Hope to Abolish the Death Penalty, which I shared in a previous Share 4 Somethings post last November

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something I let go of

• EXPECTATIONS FOR CONSTANT INSIGHTS

Lastly, on Saturday morning I joined Lory and a few others from around the world (Switzerland, India, Hungary, and the United States) for a 40-minute zoom session of a sacred reading (lectio divina). After listening to a selected text and reflecting on it, everyone shared what they learned.

In my in-person world, our paths would likely never have crossed and we would have never shared this joint experience.

In this session together I was reminded that not every moment has to be one of revelation. Life isn’t an endless stream of breakthroughs—and that’s okay. Ordinary days hold their own kind of awe.

If you’d like to experience one of these sessions (they’re free!), Lory at Enter Enchanted has set October 13 and October 25 for the two zoom sessions in October. Check her blog for details (or ask me in the comments).

While online gatherings will never replace sitting around a shared table, they do have their own gifts that are just as real:

1. Global connections with no borders.
   In a single call you can interact with others from around the world, hearing different accents, having real-time conversations, and looking in the eyes of others you might never know otherwise.
2. Accessibility and comfort.
   I love that online spaces remove barriers that might keep people from participating. Anyone can join as they are, from wherever they are, in ways that are comfortable to them in their own spaces.
3. Intimacy through focused listening.
   Online conversations work best when we give our full attention to each speaker. It reduces the side conversations and interruptions we often have in person. But in Zoom conversations we have to listen and speak one at a time, a courtesy given to each speaker, which benefits each listener as well.

These gifts remind me that community doesn’t have to look one particular way. Sometimes square boxes on a screen tie us together in strong and meaningful ways, too.

Where have you found unexpected connection—online or otherwise—this past month?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

]]> https://lisanotes.com/gifts-online-gatherings-share-4-somethings/feed/ 32 https://lisanotes.com/is-life-more-like-scrabble-or-bananagrams/ https://lisanotes.com/is-life-more-like-scrabble-or-bananagrams/#comments Tue, 22 Jul 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://lisanotes.com/?p=31747 After a weekend of playing word games, I started thinking: Is life more like Scrabble or Bananagrams? I’ve been playing Scrabble ever since grade school. My mother was an excellent… ]]>

After a weekend of playing word games, I started thinking:

Is life more like Scrabble or Bananagrams?

I’ve been playing Scrabble ever since grade school. My mother was an excellent player and knew all the tricky words to get a high score.

But a while back, our daughter Jenna gave Jeff and me the Bananagrams game as a gift. Jeff and I have played game after game since then. We love it. It’s fast-paced, flexible, and chaotic in a good way. 

Like Scrabble, Bananagrams also uses a pile of tiles with individual letters. Each player draws a set number of tiles to form words.

But the similarities mostly end there. Here’s how the two games differ:

• Board vs. No Board
  With Scrabble, you place your tiles on a shared board with designated squares. Bananagrams has no board—just an open tabletop or surface.
• Turn-Based vs. Simultaneous Play
  In Scrabble, players take turns. I place a word on the board. Then you place a word connecting with a previous word. In Bananagrams, everyone makes words at the same time, but totally disconnected from each other, each in our own space.
• Fixed vs. Flexible Words
  With Scrabble, once a word is played, it’s locked in for the remainder of the game; no changes allowed. With Bananagrams, you can rearrange or completely restart your grid at any time. 
• Scoring vs. Speed
  Scrabble rewards strategic play with points—whoever has the most points at the end of the game wins. Bananagrams rewards speed—the first person to use all their tiles wins, regardless of the difficulty or number of words made.

Which game is more like real life?

For now, I’m leaning toward Scrabble.

While life isn’t as neat as a proper Scrabble board, or as structured as its one-turn-at-a-time rule, life does run smoother when we play interdependently like Scrabble requires. You do something; I respond. I change something; you adjust.

We’re building something together, even when we don’t realize it. We’re not racing toward a finish line, but rather running together, shaping each other. 

But with Bananagrams, we’re all working in our separate space, eyes down, hoping we finish first. We don’t help each other. We’re not in it together. We’re each just going as fast as we can.

That can be fun for a game. I definitely love playing Bananagrams.

But it’s not a pattern of play I want to copy in my life.

I don’t want to “win” life by going faster. I want to love life by playing together. 

On game night, I’ll play both games with gusto. But in my real life, I’ll take shared boards, community building, and the joy of writing our stories together anytime. 

Which games feels more like your life right now—Scrabble or Bananagrams? Share in the comments.

revised from the archives

“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
— Arthur Ashe

Remember the Connections

I’ve missing my quirky friend Violet. Last month marked one year since she died. A couple Fridays ago would have been her 57th birthday.

Violet wasn’t always an easy friend. But she was an unforgettable one.

She lived with more than her fair share of challenges. Upon meeting her years ago (maybe 2004?), I immediately saw she had learning disabilities, a speech impediment, and a childlike naïveté about life.

2012 at Manna House

But she also had joy. None of her hardships stopped her from connecting with anyone, anywhere. If she met you today, in the first five minutes, you would find yourself telling her:

• Your birthday
• How old you are
• Your favorite music

And the next time she saw you? She’d remember those. (Not me—I struggle to just recall names.)

2016 at Kings’ Banquet

Violet loved birthdays and music. Especially Elvis Presley, whose birthday—she’d tell you—was January 8. I think she loved him because her mama loved him. And Violet loved her mama. She also loved Hall & Oates. Charley Pride. Any 70s and 80s pop band.

If an oldie came on the radio when we were together in the car, I could trust Violet to accurately tell me who was singing it. Sometimes I’d think,

There’s no way she can know that.

And I’d google the song. But sure enough, she was always right.

Violet also loved her brother, cheering for Auburn football (War Eagle, Violet! but no, we probably won’t beat Alabama this year), playing Candy Crush on her tablet, listening to Pandora on her phone, and eating Moose Tracks ice cream in her apartment.

What Friends Give You

Being around Violet often restored my faith in humanity. Why? Not only did she place an innocent trust in most people, I also saw most people respond to her with patience and gentleness.

I’ll never forget the kind bank clerk who helped us set up a new account. Violet wanted the clerk to understand—over and over—how many years that she and I had been friends. Violet would turn to me and ask,

“How long have we known each other? 12 years?”

And each time, I would reply,

“Actually it’s been about 20 years!”

Violet would repeat that to the clerk. Over and over and over. The exact conversation, sometimes just a minute apart.

Yet each time, the clerk showed appropriate amazement, as if she were hearing it for the first time.

That moment, among many others, reminded me that people can be quite generous when given the opportunity.

2024 at the eye doctor – she enjoyed talking to everyone but hated the exams

When Friendship Isn’t Easy

Not everything was smooth though. Sometimes we got on each other’s nerves. Like those days when she would call me 30, 40, maybe 50 times in a day. Mainly just to say that:

• Someone we knew had died (maybe last week or maybe 3 years ago)
• Or to tell me a storm was coming tomorrow
• Or to ask if I could get her some Reese’s Pieces the next time I was at the store

Because of Violet, I learned how to do things that I’d never done before. Like navigate food stamps. Track down missing Social Security checks. Fill out a Medicaid application.

And in Violet’s final months, I had to learn how to guide around a blind friend who couldn’t grasp what was happening (which is how I often felt myself).

2024, “Cheers!” on move-in day at her new home after she lost her sight

I did none of those things exactly right. I fumbled many times. And often had to call for help myself.

I felt overwhelmed by Violet’s conditions. And very sad. Yet also frustrated. I couldn’t convince her to try healthier foods or wash her socks or stretch the carton of ice cream over multiple nights instead of eating it all at one time.

But worse, I couldn’t keep Violet from dying.

2024, final photo I have of Violet, one week before she died, with our sweet friend Kay

Things You Can’t Fix

I innocently hoped that a single simple eye procedure would restore Violet’s vision. And with it, bring a brand new sparkling life for her—finally living where she could be taken care of, being served three good meals every day, and discovering a hallway full of new birthdays.

But after the first, then the second, and even the third surgery all failed to restore her vision—not even in the smallest way—she faded fast.

The good life I’d wanted for her future years here wasn’t possible after all. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Instead of getting to see Violet’s life change, it was my life that was changing.

• I became more aware of my ignorance of how people live with disabilities.
• I recognized how much privilege I had been born with.
• I learned that compassion means little if it stays in the heart—it must move through the body, stepping into spaces where love becomes action.

To quote the writer/artist Mary Anne Radmacher, I also learned that:

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’“

So thank you, Violet.

For loving me and letting me love you. For building more courage in me than I knew I had. For the days you gave me to try again tomorrow.

You taught me that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

Many people loved Violet powerfully. Many people continue to miss her today.

I am one of them.

Who in your life has taught you things you didn’t know you needed? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more friendship adventures here:

• Do You Need to Change the Channel?
  Need to change where you’re placing your attention? Be proactive: change the channel.
• One More Try to Go Home
  How will my friend view “home” if her surgery works? If it doesn’t? Amidst life’s uncertainties, home is our solace.
• The Unexpected Impact of a Short Friendship
  It was only a short friendship with a hospice nurse. But even brief encounters can make unexpected impacts on our lives.

It’s not just about me.
It’s not just about you.

It has to matter to us that it’s also about others.

This is what I heard in The Boys in the Boat as I was reading it. It’s the story of nine boys-to-men from the University of Washington as they entered the 1936 Olympics in Berlin.

Listen to author Daniel James Brown:

“What mattered more than how hard a man rowed was how well everything he did in the boat harmonized with what the other fellows were doing. And a man couldn’t harmonize with his crewmates unless he opened his heart to them. He had to care about his crew. It wasn’t just the rowing but his crewmates that he had to give himself up to, even if it meant getting his feelings hurt.

Pocock paused and looked up at Joe. ‘If you don’t like some fellow in the boat, Joe, you have to learn to like him. It has to matter to you whether he wins the race, not just whether you do.’”

Isn’t this true for all us humans?

If we’re not fond of some fellow passenger in the boat, we can still care about their well-being, their journey, their heart.

Can we let it matter to us whether others win the race, too, not just whether we do?

Let’s care about our crew today.

* * *

Are there people in your boat that get on your nerves? How do you handle your irritation? Please share in the comments.

revised from the archives

Edward stood in the long line outside, waiting with the others to sign up for gifts for his kids.

He was young, maybe 25. Black hair, brown skin, dark eyes. His accent was Hispanic.

As he watched us, a group of white ladies, he noticed we were clearly struggling to communicate clearly with other Hispanic families in line. Between our spotty Spanish and their limited English, we weren’t bridging the communication gap very well.

So when it was my turn to sign up Edward, he offered me something unexpected. “I can speak both English and Spanish,” he said. “If you need me to help translate, I’m available.”

Relieved, I immediately answered, “Yes, please!” I started asking him how to say this and that, grateful for his help. As he answered, he explained subtle differences between Guatemalan Spanish and Mexican Spanish.

His knowledge was fascinating. So I asked, “Where are you from?”, wondering which form of Spanish was his native tongue.

His answer caught me off guard.

“I am an American.”

Oh. Of course. But it was too late—my incorrect assumption had already been blurted out.

We moved on, continuing to talk and work, but my mind kept circling back to that moment. Why had I asked where he was from? What assumptions had I made based on how he looked and sounded?

Finally, after my third or fourth trip to ask Edward a translation question, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I apologized.

“I feel bad I asked where you were from. I just assumed you weren’t from here. I am so sorry.”

Edward just laughed. “I get that all the time,” he said.

But still I couldn’t shake the feeling of how quickly I’d made a judgment about him.

It’s so easy to jump to conclusions, whether about ethnicity or income or circumstances.

Just because someone doesn’t look like me or sound like me doesn’t mean that he’s not like me. Edward and I likely had more in common, both as American citizens and as human beings, than we had differences.

Maybe we all look a little different on our outsides so we’ll take a closer look at our insides.

• To spot our similarities
• To discover our distinctions
• To practice our principles

I was thankful for Edward’s grace. He gave it freely. So I accepted it freely.

And I haven’t forgotten it. I want to learn from it.

In the future, I want to jump quicker to grace and tread slower to conclusions.

* * *

When have you jumped too quickly to the wrong conclusion? Remember to stay curious! And give grace. Please share in the comments.

revised from the archives

The Weight of Untold Stories

I sit on the edge of my chair in the hospital room. My uncle is telling a story from his hospital bed. I had asked him about the animals he and my dad had as they grew up in rural Mississippi in the first half of the 1900s. I’m collecting his memories about their chickens, mules, and pigs, incorporating his stories into my own.

These are stories I’ve not heard before. And they are stories that will be gone when I lose my last remaining uncle. So I listen attentively, realizing the weight of each tale he tells.

I don’t know as much as I would like to know about his and my parents’ early years. And he won’t live long enough to know about my latter years.

The Gift of Stories

Back home, I find a new email in my inbox from Storyworth. It’s a new writing prompt for the week: “What is one of your favorite memories of your mother?” My mind flips through my memories of experiences with my sweet mama.

For 52 weeks this year, Storyworth is prompting me to write a story about my life. My youngest daughter, Jenna, bought the year-long subscription for me as a Christmas present last December. At the end of this year, Storyworth will compile all my stories into a book. This is my opportunity to tell her, and whoever else might later read the book, about my life even after I’m gone.

My daughter doesn’t know a lot about my early years. I won’t live long enough to know about her latter years.

But we overlap in the middle.

The Overlapping Middle

I don’t like watching people die even though I know we all are dying. Watching someone lose words and become dependent is uncomfortable. Watching new life, on the other hand, is easier and more exciting. Seeing my grandson learn new words and gain independence is satisfying.

But both experiences are natural and valuable.

Living in the center of the Venn diagram of overlapping lives is the juicy stuff. It’s what we need to feast on. It’s the only solid food we have anyway. Everything else is imaginative.

Connecting Across Generations

While we are here, we each want to be seen, known, and understood. We long for our life to be witnessed by a fellow human being—not to be judged or evaluated. But to be noticed.

Be curious about the person beside you in time. And satisfy their curiosity about you. These connections we make are the strings that keep us from falling apart when life gets bumpy and we feel we can’t keep it together.

These intersecting points between us are the magic of life. They are what make it matter. They are what bring us meaning.

Death isn’t the enemy. More time isn’t necessarily better. The quality of our time together is more valuable than the quantity. How can we more fully live today, fully loving those around us?

I’m grateful for these overlaps in time with those around me. In these moments, we find the true essence of life—the connections we make, the stories we share, and the love we give and receive.

Cherish the overlaps; they are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Today August 8, 2024, is my 16 year blogging anniversary. On August 8, 2008, I clicked “Publish” on my first blog post. What a journey!

I’m updating this previously published post to include why I CONTINUE to blog today. 

A Random Blog Comment?

I opened my email on the last day of July 2024. Newsletters, offers, ads, blah blah blah.

Then an email comment on a blog post. Blog comments are my favorite emails to read.

But this one made me pause. It was from a stranger. It started like this:

“I just came across your blog. Your message was just what I needed. . . .“

I read it all the way through.

Then I took a deep breath. I needed to read this one twice.

Reasons to Blog

If you blog, why do you do it?

You must have good reasons because blogging can be costly . . . in time, in energy, in thought, and sometimes in money. Blogging asks questions of us: Are we sharing too much? Are we not personal enough? Is our effort even worth it?

We probably share many of the same concerns, and same reasons, for blogging.

Perhaps you blog:

• To encourage others
• To teach something you know
• To make friends with like-minded people
• To share your art
• To sell a product
• To connect with your family
• To entertain
• To document your story
• To learn new things
• To make the world a better place

But when you blog, here’s a surprise you might not expect . . .

As you blog, you are often the one encouraged. You are the one entertained. You are the one invited to be a better person.

We think we blog to give something to the world.

And hopefully we do.

But as we blog, the world gives even more things back to us.

Maybe we gain an insight we wouldn’t have realized without writing out our words. Maybe we make a genuine friend in the blogging community. Maybe we learn about contentment as we post on quiet days.

We often receive far more than we give.

Gifts in Both Directions

After re-reading the blog comment from Tina in Canada that Wednesday morning, I felt humbled. Because although it has been almost 10 years since I wrote the post she was commenting on now (“Body, I Forgive You”), I still need the reminder in 2024 about what I was preaching to myself in 2014.

What Tina also reminded me of that morning was our need for perspective. She reminded me that throwing something on my blog every few days might be more useful than I realize. Not because I have something profound to say, but because profound things can happen despite our meager offerings.

The blog post was about appreciating our bodies instead of criticizing them. Tina, a competitive volleyball player, was feeling the aches and pains that come with an aging body.

But after reading the blog post, she listed the things she could still do with her body:

“I can walk, cuddle with my man, give hugs, work, dance, and hang with friends, and I am healthy.”

I’m grateful that my body still serves me in those ways too (although I don’t allow it to dance near enough).

Ten years ago when I wrote that post, I didn’t know that today it would come back to remind me again of a lesson I still need to learn, to show kindness and compassion to my hard-working body for all she continues to do for me. 

And to feel the kindness and compassion that I have received for 16 years from this blogging community. 

Whatever it is you expect to give by blogging, I hope you give it.

But I also hope you receive so much more in return.

If you blog, too, what difficulties does it bring? But also, what joys do you receive?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more:

• Is There a Future in Blogging? 14 Reasons to Keep Writing Your Blog
  Here are 14 reasons to keep writing your blog now and into the future.
• The Sweet Spot of Your Project
  Long-term plans for a project are important. But the sweet spot for your work is today. 

revised from the archives

I’m linking at these blog parties

“The only way to survive is by taking care of one another.”
– Grace Lee Boggs

#1 – A Bandaid

The contemplative writing session at the Wild Goose Festival had just ended on a hot Saturday morning in North Carolina. As I stood up to leave the round table under the tent outside, I felt something crash at my feet.

I quickly looked down to see an elderly woman falling in the grass beside me.

I and others immediately stooped to the ground, asking her, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She tried to quickly gain her composure and rise to her feet. She said she falls a lot. She had simply lost her balance on the uneven ground, but she was totally fine.

But the blood on her hand suggested otherwise. She had cut her finger during the fall. One person handed her a tissue to wipe off the blood, and my on-the-spot husband, Jeff, walked up just in time to offer a bandaid.

She put on the bandaid, smiled, and thanked everyone for their help, saying she had never received so much kind attention after a fall.

—

#2 – A Water Bottle

Later that afternoon, I was taking a break from the heat at a picnic table under the shade of a big tree at Wild Goose. A six-year-old girl and her older sister were playing with a squeeze water bottle nearby.

They approached my table and asked for a napkin. “Of course,” I replied, “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” the youngest girl said, “We’re helping the Goose! There is a really dirty chair over there, and we’re going to clean it up.”

What a wonderful way to help! Her unprompted generosity, no matter the size, struck me as both beautiful and valuable.

—

#3 – An Understanding

That same Saturday afternoon, a crowd had gathered under another tent to hear Starlette Thomas read to us from her book, Take Me to the Water, about a raceless gospel for a desegregated church.

A few minutes into the session, a man sitting to my left raised his hand with a question. But he became increasingly agitated as he spoke. Despite Starlette’s gracious responses, he refused to back down.

The more he talked, the more heated he became, now standing up to make his point. Others in the crowd began mumbling, wondering what he would say next.

A woman near me finally asked the man to sit back down, stating that we wanted to continue hearing what the speaker had to say. But the man still stood.

A second man near the back now also stood up. He said he recognized this man had things he needed to say, and would he be willing to go sit under the tree with him for a few minutes and privately talk it out?

Thankfully the first man said yes, and they both walked away. We all breathed a sign of relief.

The speaker, Starlette, looked at the remaining crowd like a reassuring parent. She told us she was fine, and asked if we were okay. We asked what she thought of the man.

She sat down on the stage, and gave us this response: “I think he is beloved. He is a child of God. He is on his journey.”

She obviously wasn’t flustered nor angry, but was compassionate and understanding. She said she’s faced much harder. This is how we process life and grow along the way.

This is the work.

For all of us.

—

Stay Curious About Empathy

A bandaid. A water bottle. An understanding. In each of these three moments at the Wild Goose Festival, I saw demonstrations of the beauty of empathy. Each act, though unexpected, revealed the power of human kindness.

As I reflect on my journey with Curiosity this year—with a specific curious focus on empathy these past few weeks—I am reminded of these lyrics:

“Let me tell you ’bout the situation goin’ on
All around the world today
There’s a billion different people
Doin’ a billion different things
To make a billion places better today”

Of our billion opportunities, what is one thing we can do in this moment to make the world a better place today?

May we each stay curious and act empathically wherever we find ourselves, using whatever we have to give, no matter how small or large.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

READ MORE:

• Practicing the Art of Curiosity and Conversations
  I thought the conversation would be an easy one. I was wrong. But I learned something anyway.
• The Curiosity of Arguments: It Depends If It’s Yours or Mine
  I was amused by the two men arguing over a minor detail. Until I caught myself doing the same thing…then it wasn’t so funny.
• 4 Curious Practices to Deepen Your Relationships
  Here are four ways to practice curiosity in your relationships. They are easy and effective ways to strengthen your connections.

Getting a Look

I get satisfaction when I see the look pass between them, the young eye doctor and his assistant.

My friend V and I have been sitting in the eye doctor’s exam office for a few minutes already, talking with the doctor and assistant on a Thursday afternoon. They’ve been gently prodding V to open her eyes to cooperate with the exam. She is reluctant.

Then a tornado sweeps in. An older, more gruff eye doctor has stormed into the room. The atmosphere immediately changes. Instead of tenderness and slowness, my friend’s care shifts into a higher gear with the “let’s get this done” attitude of the more hurried doctor.

As the exam winds down, the younger doctor offers his assistance to his elder to finish up the details himself so the older doctor can move on. But his offer is almost rudely rebuffed. The older doctor is clearly demanding his superiority in the room. I notice the younger one cringe a little. Once. Twice.

It is on the third refusal when I see the younger doctor and the assistant exchange the look between each other, as if each is saying, “Gee, why does he have to be so hostile?”

I agree with their unspoken conversation.

Granted, when I go to any doctor, for myself or with someone else, I do want the doctor to be confident about his skills. I want his words and behaviors to indicate his expertise. And I want him to talk and treat me with efficiency and succinctness so I can get in and out as quickly as possible.

But the passing of information isn’t the only conversation I want to have.

3 Types of Conversations

After reading Charles Duhigg’s new book, Supercommunicators: How to Unlock the Secret Language of Connection, I understand a little more clearly what I’d been wanting from the older doctor. And didn’t get.

Duhigg suggests we most often have three types of conversations. Knowing which kind we’re having—or want to have—is the key to its effectiveness.

The three common conversations are:

1. The “What’s this really about?” Conversation
This one is practical. It deals with facts. It is helpful when we need to make a decision and move on.

2. The “How do we feel?” Conversation
When we need to connect on an emotional level, this is the conversation to have. It invites awareness of our emotions, beliefs, and memories.

3. The “Who are we?” Conversation
We tap into a broader, more social mindset with these conversations. These help us acknowledge social differences rather than pretending they don’t exist.

While my primary preference with the eye doctor was to have the “what’s this really about?” conversation, I also needed some “how do we feel?” conversation mixed in.

The news he was giving us was overwhelming, confusing, and a little terrifying. I appreciated receiving the information in a clearcut manner, as if given a menu to choose from, but I also wanted some consideration for the emotional impact involved in making the decision.

I didn’t get it that day.

But I did get something different from the doctor a few days later.

A Different Conversation

It is an early Monday morning, and this time I am sitting with V in a pre-op room, awaiting one of her eye surgeries. The sweet young nurses have already been in to perform their prep work, the anesthesiologist has come and gone after explaining her procedures, and now the older eye doctor jerks back the curtain and blows in.

He talks to V for a minute. He wants to make sure she understands what’s about to happen. Then he pauses. He turns toward me and asks if I have any questions. I don’t.

Yet he still doesn’t walk away. He hesitates a moment longer this second time, and with a soft but serious tone, looks me in the eye, and says, “I will do my best for her.” Another pause. Then he adds, “I can’t guarantee anything, but I want you to know I will do all I can.”

I am surprised. And warmly pleased. This is exactly the “how do we feel?” conversation that I need at this moment. I am grateful.

4 Rules for Conversations

Duhigg writes in Supercommunicators that we are always in a conversation—be it practical, emotional, or social.

To better connect and understand what we and others need, he offers these 4 rules for conversations.

1. Pay attention to what kind of conversation is occuring.
2. Share your goals, and ask what others are seeking.
3. Ask about others’ feelings, and share your own.
4. Explore if identities are important to this discussion.

It’s not a literal checklist to tick off (although it can be, in the most serious of conversations), but it’s a mindset to facilitate greater communication.

It can mean asking more questions, owning up to our own mistakes and feelings, and being more open about who we are.

Another Opportunity?

On the following Tuesday at V’s follow-up appointment in the doctor’s office, I plan to briefly thank the doctor for the kindness he showed on surgery day. I want him to know his human touch was noticed. It made a difference in a tense moment.

But it is his surly version that shows up again. I can tell he’s in a mad rush. Before I can relay my appreciation for yesterday, I first have to reel him back into the room as he tries to exit—twice—so I can get basic answers about what’s next for V’s care.

This learning conversation is vital, after all.

But he finally succeeds in escaping before I have the opportunity to say thanks, to have the more human conversation I’d envisioned.

It’s a conversation we’ll likely never have now. (I’d rather just give him a look.)

Having the conversations we want doesn’t always come easy. And may not always feel natural. But when they are possible, I hope we can make them happen, unlike my experience.

Connecting with other humans through meaningful conversations—whatever type they are—is always worth our efforts.

Which of the 3 types of conversations do you have most often? I highly recommend Supercommunicators for a more in-depth look at each. You’ll get tips and practical advice you can use immediately.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

My thanks to Netgalley + Random House for
the review copy of Supercommunicators

Have Enough Favorites?

It’s been a few years now, but I remember the night Brian brought me Vietnamese spring rolls.

He had made spring rolls a couple weeks earlier and brought them to our English as a Second Language class. But I wasn’t there that week. With no time to make homemade rolls again the following week just for me, he bought some from a local Vietnamese restaurant.

He pulled out the takeout box for me to have.

Vietnamese food is an unknown to me. I’m not adventurous in the food department. I like what I like. I have enough favorite foods already; why would I need to try new ones?

But having a Vietnamese friend was once an unknown to me, too.

When New Is Uncomfortable

Brian isn’t his original name. It’s the name he gave himself when he came to America a few months earlier from his home in Vietnam. It’s easier to say.

When I wanted to learn how to pronounce his real name anyway, he laughed and gently told me it would be too hard. I could just call him Brian. He liked that name.

Learning new things can be uncomfortable. Meeting new people even more so. Especially when you speak different languages. It feels rude to ask someone to repeat a word over and over because you can’t understand what they’re saying. Or to be asked in return to speak slower because they’re lost.

Differences often separate us. It’s hard to jump the hurdles to find commonalities. It takes energy and motivation. And time.

To practice his English, Brian prefered real conversations with a native speaker instead of learning through a workbook. So for an hour and a half each Thursday night week after week, we simply talked.

We worked on his pronunciation skills (the th sound is hard for him) and I explained definitions of words he was unsure of (like meteorologist). But we did so through natural discussions about the differences and similarities in our two cultures of America and Vietnam. Weddings, clothing, schools, food, family, holidays, religion.

It Goes Both Ways

As I learned more about Brian’s culture, I learned more about mine, too. Sometimes I’m proud of it; sometimes I’m shamed. The Vietnamese do many things better, some things worse, just like we do.

Even though our sounds differ, our minds search for similar information, our hearts feel the same emotions, our souls want the same connections.

The teaching and learning didn’t go only one direction, but back and forth, round and round.

One word at a time, one conversation at a time, the teacher/student dynamic broke down. It grew into friend-to-friend.

Welcome Home

Despite the hindrances, it’s possible to overcome barriers and reconnect in meaningful ways.

Granted, it takes more effort to understand each other when we don’t sound the same. We have to think harder, lean in, listen closer.

Welcoming the outsider often feels awkward. But we’ve all been the stranger. We know what it means to have received hospitality as a stranger as well as to extend hospitality to the strangers around us. To help others feel at home.

Our efforts are worth it when we discover our common humanity.

I opened the takeout box to try a spring roll. It looked as foreign as it was. I timidly dipped a corner of the rice paper into the sauce. Brian urged me to dunk it more fully. I tried it.

It was good, but it tasted alien to my American tastebuds. I would need a few more bites.

When I got home, I encouraged my husband Jeff to try one, too. He did. The culture was spreading. We’d never had Vietnamese food in our mouths—in our house—and now we had both experienced it.

It was no longer an unknown.

Welcome home.

* * *

When have you been an outsider? When have you welcomed the stranger?

Please share your thoughts in the comments.

revised from the archives