MIND MOVES:Our faults and failings are as much a part of us as our gifts and talents
THERE ARE some people who we naturally like to be around; their company is delightful, they lift our spirits and make us laugh. And then there are those whom we might call an “acquired taste”.
They may be hesitant, unforthcoming; conversation doesn’t flow so easily and even when it does, we may find it hard to keep our attention on what they are saying.
But like a book that takes a while to get into, or a movie that stretches us and challenges us before it reveals some rare insight that we treasure for years, their company can surprise us if we give things a little time to warm up.
I’m thinking of an encounter I had with someone a few months ago. We are connected through a mutual friend and meet only very occasionally when he is in town. We would probably never have met except for the bond of friendship we each have with this third party.
When I did agree to meet up, I was being, I confess, more dutiful than spontaneous. This man was what you might call reserved; in his own words, he was a little uncomfortable and stiff around people. But he was kind and respectful and I felt instinctively he was someone I could trust, although why that was I cannot say exactly.
Perhaps because we had by this stage met a number of times over the past few years, or perhaps because the ambiance, the meal and wine were surprisingly good in the modest restaurant we randomly chose that evening, the conversation gradually eased out and became more personal.
He opened up and spoke about tensions in his workplace, the challenge of rebuilding his business after it had collapsed entirely in the late 1990s and other “stuff” that men generally get into when they loosen up.
Then he told me a story that was beautiful. And even though it’s been a while now since we met, it has stayed with me.
He described how as a child he had never been able to mix very easily with others; he was a serious child with little social charm. His voice was stiff and he was a terrible singer. If there were ever an occasion at school that he was required to sing, he would emit such a woeful sound that his classmates would jeer him and later sneer at him in the schoolyard. He became obsessed and phobic about this “defect” in his make-up and avoided all situations where he might be called upon to sing.
Sometime later in his early 30s, he met a woman who he really liked a lot. He had never been very successful with women, but when he was with her he felt happier than he had ever been. One evening after a meal together in her place, they became very intimate and she told him how much he meant to her. He was over the moon. She thanked him for all the wonderful ways he had loved her, but she said there was one thing that he had never done for her, which she would very much like. She asked if he would do this one thing for her, and he said he would do it gladly, whatever it was. She asked him to sing for her.
He was petrified. She told him to relax, that she would just clear the table but that when she returned she wanted him to sing. He sat there waiting, with traumatic childhood memories swirling around his head.
But because he cared so much for this woman, when she returned to the room, he opened his mouth to sing to her. What came out was a terrifying sound, born of a deep pain inside him and strangled vocal chords.
She stood there and listened and as she did, she saw something in him that she had never seen before. But she also saw a man who loved her enough to share a part of himself that he had kept hidden for years, because she had asked him.
In that moment she knew she deeply loved this man. She later disclosed to him that it was in that moment that she decided to marry him. They are now married eight years with two small children. And here’s the funny part.
Their children are poor sleepers and his wife is not very successful in trying to calm them down when they wake upset during the night. But he seems to be especially gifted in soothing them back to sleep. His secret is that he sings to them; something about his singing seems to work a kind of magic for his two girls.
In a world that is poised to pass judgment and quick to sneer, it can make sense to keep our shortcomings hidden from others. Who needs to feel the cold eye of another’s disapproval looking through you as they write you off as a poor excuse for a human being?
But what if that imagined defect is in fact a crucial part of who we are, a key to finding our true identity? Without making room for it, without embracing it as simply a part of the story of our lives, our story will never fully ripen, and we will deprive others of hearing our true voice.
- Tony Bates is founding director of Headstrong – the National Centre for Youth Mental Health (www.headstrong.ie)