Quiet Eldering

Quiet, but no less powerful

I have live most of my life thus far quietly. I learned that this style was the best way to feel safe in my childhood, given a very strict and authoritarian father whose anger was intense. Although he never lashed out physically, he was quick to anger. I don’t think that he was aware of how scary his anger could feel to a child, how scary his face looked when he was angry. My survival technique became to retreat into quiet solitude and to try and become as invisible as I could (not easy for an only child). 

As I write this, I want to express my appreciation to the wonderful author, Susan Cain, who has given us all such a gift with her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. She helped to give voice to introverts, creating space for the value of human life in all of its expressions. She helped give words to much of what I have experienced in my life and helped to validate its worth. 

So, now as an elder, as I continue to explore this unfamiliar land of elderhood, I find that unlike what my fantasies had been (which was to have everything figured out by now and to be the best version of myself, which I think in my fantasies was different than my usual quiet self, imagining that I would somehow turn into this more gregarious, social, outgoing and together person. Nope, not happening.)

Of course, my core is still there. I think that, as a relatively quiet person, I get to hear a whole lot more with my mouth shut and my ears open. I still don’t like anger and conflict, and that’s ok. I don’t have to like it to express it or to be able to deal with it. I can be strong, set boundaries, and yet still retain my true core of quietness.

 I don’t have to be loud, even though I still think that being loud gets more attention and gets noticed more, at least initially. I can wait to speak my piece/peace, can take my time to think about what I want to say (after observing, listening. processing, and formulating my thoughts). That was something else that I thought would change, that I would somehow get faster, think better on my feet. Once again, nope. And you know what? It’s ok that I take my time to process my thoughts and feelings. Being faster and louder is not better, just different. 

Different ways to express ourselves

I recently attended a presentation by an artist. He spoke from his heart as he described his art, his life, his feelings. I was intrigued by not only his art, but the story that he told behind it . After the presentation, people in the audience rushed up to talk with him, as often happens. They were in a group around him, each waiting to get his attention and speak with him. This kind of scene is not my strength; competition is not my favorite. So, I wondered how I could express my appreciation in a way that worked for me and got my reaction across to him. I walked up to where he was, but at a respectable distance and not part of the group that surrounded him. I waited until he happened to look my way, and while making eye contact with him, I put my hands onto my heart and smiled. He, while maintaining eye contact, smiled back as he in turn placed his hands on his heart. Message sent and received and enough said. The interaction felt complete. It was all the conversation that I needed. I was touched by how words were not needed. Now, I have nothing against words, given how much I love to express myself in my writing. But we quiet folks can still say a whole lot amid our silence.

Of course, there are challenges that can be particularly hard, like meetings at work where I felt like I had to fight to get a word in or had to interrupt someone, which seemed to be the norm for meetings. (I am happily retired now, so that challenge is no longer part of my life, but I do still feel twinges of the same pattern when in any group.)

This makes me appreciate even more the idea of a talking stick (used by some Indigenous peoples of North America.) With this tradition, you have the floor when holding the stick and maintain the sacred right to speak, so that (gasp) you can even pause to collect your thoughts without worrying about someone interrupting you. (I also have another idea for a different kind of talking stick to be able to hold up…one that stops mansplaining in its tracks…but that is for another article!)

I take my time (most of the time) reacting to things. I realize that this may change as I continue to practice speaking up more, or maybe it won’t change. I can give myself grace with this part of who I am and with this being my style and my pattern. I don’t have to judge myself harshly about this. I can keep working with this, and maybe even try out new ideas…like introducing myself and my style, thus planting a seed that may create more space for it, bringing it into others’ awareness. Another idea is to verbally claim a space during any meeting for the quieter folks to speak their mind without interruption. This could be a way to begin to create more awareness and space for quieter folks, where they don’t have to fight to be heard, where they can quietly, with a bit more time, express what they wish. 

I think a lot about quiet versus loud. Quiet waits, listens, remains, endures, stays steady, has its own kind of power, its own way of connection, its own selfhood, its own depth and richness, its own worth. 

Acceptance of what is and who I am

So, now as an elder, I still don’t jump into conversations. I still avoid conflict but will handle what I need to when it is called for. I can also create space to discern who may not be able to listen, so that I don’t have to keep hitting my head against the wall trying to get something that is not available at that time. I can pick my battles, choose my times, and embrace the power of NO. I can choose my family, my tribe, my space. 

I am an elder, old enough to finally accept who and what I am. I realize that not all invitations to battle require a response. I can use my own weapons of choice in a conflict (Remember the scene in the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark? There was a scene where Indiana Jones’ opponent shows his tremendous skill with all his knives and martial arts. Indiana Jones watches him for a while, knows that he cannot compete with this, pulls out his gun and shoots him. He used his own weapons!)

I can own my quietness and the truth of who I am and how I am. I can seek out those who relate and can speak my language. I can help people see and hear that I did express myself, but that they may not have heard me since I was speaking in my own quiet dialect. Someone who speaks this dialect may indeed express an opinion or put forth an idea, but it may not be heard until someone who speaks the dialect of loud or extroversion expresses the same thing, but is heard because that dialect more easily gets attention in our culture. 

So, I realize that I am not “cured”. I never needed to be. Aging, for me, has come with more acceptance of who I am, recognizing that there is also power in quiet, not letting others tell me who I am, what my values should be, or how I should express them.

To my fellow quiet elders, you have a life that has been richly lived. There is power in your quiet as well as sustainability, endurance, and depth. We have our own brand of wisdom, for those who may want to hear it. We can listen to our own music, our own version of our life song, quieter, but no less melodious or rich.