How we communicate says so much about who we are. How much of a part does nature play in our natural inclinations and our modus operandi? Surely the way we have been nurtured and raised has a bigger influence but as we develop as adults, will our inborn, inbred instincts rise again to the fore and play a major role in our personalities and lives again with a tussle between the learned behaviour and that which is intrinsic to our fundamental core?
Whether it was nature or nurture in my case, I know not. What I do know is that my preferred method of communication has always been the written word. Due to the isolation of my youth, most of my time was spent alone. This was before we had emails, mobiles and the plethora of ways that we can choose to communicate now. Although we had telephones and could make contact that way, yet I still opted to write letters and to this day I also still have these long conversations with myself inside my head. I had some intense long-distance relationships and the written word, the proverbial love letter ,became the highlight and focus of my life. I would voraciously devour and pour over these treasured epistles until each and every word was imprinted in my mind ( let alone the heart ). This pattern continued with further relationships in my life – with daughters who were at boarding school , with a husband who travelled frequently for long periods of time and then with friends and family when we moved abroad. To this day, my most comfortable method of contact is via an email. I find that when I write, I tend to be more circumspect and measured about what I am going to say and there is more thought behind my words. When I am in a social situation, due to me being out of my comfort zone I tend to talk too much, say some inane things and then beat myself up later when I return home. You can be sure that these days, although I write quickly, whatever I write will tend to have a clear cut transparency – my words will convey the message I intend to impart.
Yes, there will no doubt be those occasions when my words will and indeed have risen up to challenge me and bite me in the behind. This is the caveat to the dependence and compulsion for writing things down. They will forever be irrefutable proof of what you said , eternally captured in black and white to always remind you of this error in judgment that you wilfully chose to immortalise.
Am I still prepared to take the risk?