Maybe We Should Use Our Own Words

Apparently, an old coworker/friend and I need to start taking the same advice we give kids all day:

Use your words. 

We both work with kids. We encourage them to communicate, ask for what they need, take turns talking, listen to each other, and not expect someone else to magically know what they’re thinking.

Meanwhile, the old coworker/friend and me after twelve years:

Him: “Hey.” 

Me: “Hey.” 

Both of us: Probably thinking 47 other things that neither one actually says. 

In my defense, I’ve known some of my kids for two or three years. I know them. I’m comfortable with them. My old coworker is a grown man I haven’t really talked to in twelve years who suddenly appeared back in my workplace carrying an entire chapter of my past with him.

So yes, I’m awkward.

But sir… you’re going into mental health. What’s your excuse? 

Of course, I know that’s not really fair. Talking to kids professionally is very different from talking to someone from your own past. Maybe that’s exactly why we’re both awkward. We know each other, but we’re also getting to know each other again.

And honestly?

I think we kind of like being awkward. 

Maybe some of that awkwardness will always be there. Maybe we’ll always grin a little too much or suddenly forget what words are when we pass each other.

That’s okay.

We don’t have to stop being awkward.

We just have to learn to be awkward and use our words at the same time.

Maybe it’s my turn.

He’s smiled at me. He’s said hey. He’s even said hey first. So maybe the next time I naturally get a chance, I need to use an entire sentence:

“Hey, one quick question. How long are you going to be here?”

Look at that.

A complete sentence.

We’re advancing. 

And after I ask it, I can listen. I don’t have to explain everything. I don’t have to turn it into a conversation about twelve years ago. I don’t have to figure out what he’s thinking.

I use my words.

Then I give him the opportunity to use his.

Because maybe that’s how this works this time around.

My turn. His turn.

No chasing.

No mind reading.

No trying to communicate an entire friendship through hallway grins.

Just two people who once knew each other, unexpectedly found each other again, and are slowly figuring out how to talk to each other in the present.

And if we can spend our days telling children:

“Use your words.”

Then surely, eventually, the two of us can manage more than:

“Hey.”