One evening, at eleven, someone I work with writes to me and expects an answer. In the past I would have replied right away, a little out of courtesy and a lot out of anxiety to close things. This time I replied the next day. They thanked me, with no annoyance at all. Would they have thanked me if I had answered at eleven at night? I don’t think so, because it would have been a chase.
The period is still complicated, you know that and I won’t go over it again. What interests me is that, within this period, I’m re-evaluating a word I used to look at with suspicion, silence.
The silence that calms
It’s a word with two faces, I know. It can be a wall, a punishment, an escape. It can also be a tool. The first time I used it that way was with rumination. When a thought keeps going on and on, sometimes I stop dead, as if I were cutting a sentence off halfway, and go quiet. I have no paper to cite, it’s something I observe in myself. My own hypothesis is that something doesn’t add up for the brain, because the sentence never gets finished, and it stops chasing it, but it’s only a hypothesis. It isn’t easy to do, but it works in my favour. It resembles the empty space I’ve written about more than once, except that this time I’m the one creating it.
Don’t chase the answer
The same goes for mistakes. In the past, when I realised I was in the wrong, I ran after a justification, and often made things worse. Now I apologise and stop there.
At work is where I’ve seen it most. In a difficult negotiation, with someone who tells their side of the story very well, I would have answered straight away and probably lost. I admit that what pushed me to wait was also my business partner, and I’m glad to acknowledge it. Now if someone says “let’s reply”, I say yes, but I wait for the right moment. And every time I wait a moment longer, I notice it makes a difference. With cash flow tight it’s even harder, because when money runs short the temptation is to chase. I waited, and carried on with everything else.
At first you doubt yourself. You start thinking you’re getting it wrong, because it was never your way of doing things. Then you realise that this silence, not letting the word arrive straight away, often leads to a better answer than the one you would have given. Saying “I’ll reply tomorrow morning” to the person that evening had that effect: I set the timing myself without closing the door.
Even on a call, when the other person gets worked up, sometimes I lower my voice and stop talking. The tone drops, then we go back to reasoning. I think it’s a technique taught in conflict management; it has certainly worked for me.
I’m not talking about ghosting. My silence comes back: I say when I’ll answer, and I answer. A rest in music is written down, has a length, and then the melody picks up again. That’s how I’d like my silence to be. And with the people I love, it stays tied to a word, a gesture, something that says I’m still here. Otherwise it becomes a wall.
When firmness is needed
Firmness is a different thing, even if the two often travel together. Silence is a pause, firmness is not backing down. A simple example, and I know it’s a single case: “I won’t step in until the invoice is paid.” The typical reply is “come on, let’s get along, let’s be understanding”. And I say no. It worked.
At home too
With children it’s the hardest part, and I think any parent would agree. My daughter has a very strong character. When I tell her she’s watched too many cartoons, that’s enough, she starts to scream. What works best is a low tone of voice, “no, that’s how it is, we don’t do that”, and then silence. I do something else. After a while comes an “okay, Dad”. I believe the message gets through not because I’ve frightened her, but because she’s had time to think it over. There are a billion variables, so take this as a supposition, because like every parent I’ve made my own mistakes. The difference lies between authoritative and authoritarian, and it isn’t easy to apply correctly.
Silence and firmness are two words I’m re-evaluating. They aren’t negative in themselves, it depends how you use them. They need balancing and training, in a rough patch as in a good one.
In Go, once a stone has been placed it is never moved again, and then you wait. Usually nobody speaks, the other player’s move comes when it comes. That silence is part of the game. Perhaps that’s what I’m learning, to place the stone and to know how to wait.