The Blogger Voice: Irreverent Eloquence
What is my Blogger Voice you ask?
That is a great question. I didn't really know it existed until recently myself. Until I was sitting in mixed company, blending two worlds and telling my life-changing story. My "Blogger Voice" came to the surface and I was called out for it.
You see, I gambled large on life and lost. And in the tumult of that loss, I have been worried about losing my voice as well. That passion and driving force that is my voice, that always spills out of me, sharing (and over- sharing) like verbal diarrhea sometimes, in its proliferative quantity.
In processing our loss I began to wrap my mind around the details and formulate the story of the night that changed my life and possibly my voice. My mixed company sat near, rapt and listening: my husband quiet in the corner armchair and two of my dearest coworkers and friends perched across the room. I found myself in an odd place on my couch, not the usual corner where I comfortably recline to rest and not on the large ottoman, supported and cozy. I found myself pale, puffy faced from crying for days, and unsure where to start, unsure that my voice would carry in this space, to this audience...but I began.
The sound that emanated from my mouth was not mine. I was surprised to hear a different pitch and cadence to the words that came haltingly out, not recognizing the timber of the person speaking and echoing in my head. This wasn't my voice, but it must be; perhaps it is temporary I thought to myself, a byproduct of the grief causing the tears, causing the inflammation in my vocal chords, causing this sound. And I pressed on, the story unfolding a little faster now, the drama in the telling seeping out and building the tension in the room.
Aksel had been there for the real drama- had experienced the height of the adrenaline as I lay on the floor, calm in my own world on that night that changed our lives, and ran my ship a little inefficiently from my trendelenburged position, but none the less attempted to maintain control as is my style- so he sat ever so quietly in his corner and listened, adding details infrequently to my tale. My coworkers were my real captives and I wove the words around them in this new voice, embellishing the story with quotes and description as best as I could recall. And I had them crying, and laughing, laughing and crying myself as I went, experiencing the raw edge of pain and sorrow along with the goofy hilarity of my trying to run the ship to the end. It was cathartic for all of us I think.
The animation that came from me during that hour, the gesticulations and facial expressions, the tone and pressure of the speech was impressive. I had fire and energy and life for that hour. I hadn't lost my voice after all! It may have carried differently but it was me and oh I was relieved. My mixed company seemed relieved too...as though in the story-telling they heard the old me in the room, even though I sounded different and looked like death warmed over, they could tell I was still in there...collectively they sighed and collected themselves again.
I walked my coworkers and friends to the door and Aksel unfolded himself from the chair. We gave hugs and thanked them for their company and they thanked me for the story. I turned around in the now silent house, unsure where to sit and what to say after having said it all but still having to live it...and Aksel followed me back to the living room, back to the stage where I had unleashed myself a short while before.
"Who the hell was that?" he asked, completely perplexed.
"Who?" I said, Captain Oblivious to what he meant.
"I've been married to you for how many years? 8? And I've never met that girl. That voice, that girl was funny. You are not funny with me...how come you are funny with them?"
"Hmm," I answered, "Must have been my Blogger Voice."
"Your what?" clearly, he still is not getting it.
"Well that's me with my friends. You know, the way I talk when I'm at work with my friends? I guess I would call it my "Blogger Voice." They always laugh and tell me I should write a blog after I share a bit of our lives that they enjoy."
"Huh. Wish I could have that 'You' around. She was funny. I only get the serious 'You.'
I opened his ears in that one story, introduced him to this person he had not met and who I identified with for so long. And in this tumult of loss, this gamble of life, I am struggling again to maintain this voice, this passion and driving force. So the "Blogger Voice" has come to life in writing, given a formal existence, a permanence that could spell danger but I'm hoping could be very healing.
And it also now has a name : Irreverent Eloquence.
In all the crazy chaos that swirls in my mind I figure I could spin a few thoughts together online to organize myself and better my situation, hopefully with the eloquence that I enjoy reading in others' posts...but beware: I rarely apologize for my honesty and my sense of humor isn't for everyone; I step on a soapbox with my opinions fairly often and though I listen and attempt to be respectful, there is not much that I show due reverence. If you find yourself reading this, and perhaps future posts, I hope you enjoy it. Maybe laugh, maybe cry, maybe catch a little verbal diarrhea yourself. If you know me at all you know I'm not shy. If you don't know me yet, well don't worry, keep reading and you will. ;)
That is a great question. I didn't really know it existed until recently myself. Until I was sitting in mixed company, blending two worlds and telling my life-changing story. My "Blogger Voice" came to the surface and I was called out for it.
You see, I gambled large on life and lost. And in the tumult of that loss, I have been worried about losing my voice as well. That passion and driving force that is my voice, that always spills out of me, sharing (and over- sharing) like verbal diarrhea sometimes, in its proliferative quantity.
In processing our loss I began to wrap my mind around the details and formulate the story of the night that changed my life and possibly my voice. My mixed company sat near, rapt and listening: my husband quiet in the corner armchair and two of my dearest coworkers and friends perched across the room. I found myself in an odd place on my couch, not the usual corner where I comfortably recline to rest and not on the large ottoman, supported and cozy. I found myself pale, puffy faced from crying for days, and unsure where to start, unsure that my voice would carry in this space, to this audience...but I began.
The sound that emanated from my mouth was not mine. I was surprised to hear a different pitch and cadence to the words that came haltingly out, not recognizing the timber of the person speaking and echoing in my head. This wasn't my voice, but it must be; perhaps it is temporary I thought to myself, a byproduct of the grief causing the tears, causing the inflammation in my vocal chords, causing this sound. And I pressed on, the story unfolding a little faster now, the drama in the telling seeping out and building the tension in the room.
Aksel had been there for the real drama- had experienced the height of the adrenaline as I lay on the floor, calm in my own world on that night that changed our lives, and ran my ship a little inefficiently from my trendelenburged position, but none the less attempted to maintain control as is my style- so he sat ever so quietly in his corner and listened, adding details infrequently to my tale. My coworkers were my real captives and I wove the words around them in this new voice, embellishing the story with quotes and description as best as I could recall. And I had them crying, and laughing, laughing and crying myself as I went, experiencing the raw edge of pain and sorrow along with the goofy hilarity of my trying to run the ship to the end. It was cathartic for all of us I think.
The animation that came from me during that hour, the gesticulations and facial expressions, the tone and pressure of the speech was impressive. I had fire and energy and life for that hour. I hadn't lost my voice after all! It may have carried differently but it was me and oh I was relieved. My mixed company seemed relieved too...as though in the story-telling they heard the old me in the room, even though I sounded different and looked like death warmed over, they could tell I was still in there...collectively they sighed and collected themselves again.
I walked my coworkers and friends to the door and Aksel unfolded himself from the chair. We gave hugs and thanked them for their company and they thanked me for the story. I turned around in the now silent house, unsure where to sit and what to say after having said it all but still having to live it...and Aksel followed me back to the living room, back to the stage where I had unleashed myself a short while before.
"Who the hell was that?" he asked, completely perplexed.
"Who?" I said, Captain Oblivious to what he meant.
"I've been married to you for how many years? 8? And I've never met that girl. That voice, that girl was funny. You are not funny with me...how come you are funny with them?"
"Hmm," I answered, "Must have been my Blogger Voice."
"Your what?" clearly, he still is not getting it.
"Well that's me with my friends. You know, the way I talk when I'm at work with my friends? I guess I would call it my "Blogger Voice." They always laugh and tell me I should write a blog after I share a bit of our lives that they enjoy."
"Huh. Wish I could have that 'You' around. She was funny. I only get the serious 'You.'
I opened his ears in that one story, introduced him to this person he had not met and who I identified with for so long. And in this tumult of loss, this gamble of life, I am struggling again to maintain this voice, this passion and driving force. So the "Blogger Voice" has come to life in writing, given a formal existence, a permanence that could spell danger but I'm hoping could be very healing.
And it also now has a name : Irreverent Eloquence.
In all the crazy chaos that swirls in my mind I figure I could spin a few thoughts together online to organize myself and better my situation, hopefully with the eloquence that I enjoy reading in others' posts...but beware: I rarely apologize for my honesty and my sense of humor isn't for everyone; I step on a soapbox with my opinions fairly often and though I listen and attempt to be respectful, there is not much that I show due reverence. If you find yourself reading this, and perhaps future posts, I hope you enjoy it. Maybe laugh, maybe cry, maybe catch a little verbal diarrhea yourself. If you know me at all you know I'm not shy. If you don't know me yet, well don't worry, keep reading and you will. ;)
Comments
Post a Comment