Be quiet

I am loud person, a native of the loudest borough in the loudest city in one of the loudest countries in the world.  I’m so loud, once I was speaking at a conference and they asked me to lower my microphone because my voice was spilling over into the next ballroom.  Only thing, I wasn’t wearing a microphone.  But now that I’ve hit the back nine of life, I’m finally realizing that in order to learn something from other people, I have to just shut up. I’ve found when I do, I learn the most about life from those around me who aren’t as loud as I am but have so much to say.

From my earliest memories, I remember talking. My mother would probably say I was talking in the womb. But in my house, growing up with four kids and two parents, nobody listened to anybody, let alone the youngest. That probably explains why I wanted to be an actress—so I would talk and everyone would have to listen. I wanted my own captive audience. Now that I think about it, the pinnacle of my acting career was a one-woman show where I played all the characters for over an hour and a half. It was heaven.

Coming from a household where no one listened to me also must have something to do with my therapy of choice: psychoanalysis. I got to lie on a couch and talk for 50 minutes to my very quiet analyst. And I did this for years. I’m still not sure he ever spoke to me during my many years of therapy, except for: “Our time is up.” All I know is, after all that talking, I think I’m better—but it was never confirmed because he never said anything.

In our family, our son is the quiet one. We’ve been told he’s really funny, but he seems to save it mostly for Twitter and Vine. Perfect for a man of few words since he’s limited to 140 characters or a six-second video. My husband is a man of few words, too, but when he does talk, he is exceptionally loud. We are all constantly shushing him. And while my daughter hates to speak in public, when she’s at home she never stops speaking.

Yet, despite my love of words, there are times when I literally run out of them. I’ll tell you right then and there: “I’m done for the day. All used up. No words left.” When I first did this with friends, they thought I was kidding. I wasn’t. I just shut down.

Recently, author Susan Cain has made a splash with her TED talk and book about the power of introverts. In Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, she argues that the world can gain—and has gained—so much from those who aren’t the loudest in the room. The irony of the book’s success of course is that the author, a self-described introvert, is now speaking all over and is this year’s winner of the Golden Gavel from the speaking group Toastmasters International. Her work has been dubbed the “Quiet Revolution.” I guess she’s not so quiet any more.

When I first moved to Rochester, I didn’t have any friends so I was forced to pay attention and listen. This was mostly because I came kicking and screaming and actually said out loud, “I don’t want to meet new people.”

But when I stopped my whining and started listening, I learned a lot about people. I learned that there are wonderful people wherever you live. People who care and who are making a difference. People who are funny, and some of them special in their own quiet way.

It was then I made it my mission to learn more about the people I meet than they can learn about me. Of course when a loud person does this, it can feel like a cross-examination. (I can’t help it, I’m also a former lawyer). What I’ve learned from asking questions is that everyone has a story—and especially the quiet people. I’m fascinated by other people’s stories.

And now, as one of my jobs, I get people to share their own stories and feel comfortable doing it. There’s nothing I like better than to work with people who are successful in every aspect of their life but who tell me they hate to speak in public. We’ve all heard that poll that found about a quarter of us fear public speaking even more than death. I guess it makes sense: We don’t have a choice about dying, but we can try to find a way out of speaking in public.

I have a friend who flies big planes across the ocean, responsible for the lives of hundreds of passengers. Yet, despite her big scary job, she hates to speak in public. We met when I asked her to be on a panel for a global leadership conference to talk about juggling her career and being a mother. She kept turning me down but would never share why. Being a loud, relentless, pit-bull sort of person, I finally convinced her to join the panel. And in doing so, I helped her figure out how she could share her story despite her fear and, more important, why she should share it in the first place: because it might inspire someone. She rocked that panel. That night at the bar, her husband gave me the biggest hug and said, “Thank you.” He told me what a huge step this was for her. My friend the pilot is now my friend the inspiration—and now we can’t shut her up.

She shared her story in her own voice. And that’s the point. Developing your voice and your story in your own language is what makes a difference to your audience. And it isn’t always about how big the stage is or the size of the audience. It’s about making a difference one person at a time.

Like the story I recently heard about Mary Church, who graduated this year from the Norman Howard School in Pittsford. To earn her Girl Scout Gold Award, the highest honor, Mary traveled to Managua, Nicaragua, to create a girl’s empowerment program for girls living in a community called Project Chacocente. The Project is a mission that moves families who are living in the city dump to a clean and fertile environment so they can learn to live independently.

Mary says she first became inspired to make a difference in the world after the devastating Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004. “I had a calling,” she explains. She was 9.

Despite her age, she stood up in front of her entire congregation to make a plea to raise money for an organization doing relief work. Ever since her success raising money by raising her voice, Mary has been involved in mission work that makes a difference.

Yet Mary learned the greatest lesson about how sharing your story can make a difference when she chose to speak about her struggle with dyslexia. She says the girls from Nicaragua were surprised to learn that, even though Mary comes from a very different life than theirs, even she has hardships to overcome.

The important thing is she’s trying. Dyslexia hasn’t stopped her from working on a dream to learn Spanish though it’s extremely difficult for her. Her Gold Award project for the Girl Scouts included bringing in speakers from Managua to share the stories of what they had to overcome to be successful.

She says, despite the language barrier, they all understood each other. At the end of the program one of the girls came up to hug her and thanked her for sharing her story. “She was smiling and touched a pendant I had made for the girls. It was touching to see I made an impact and that they learned—despite hardships—they too can have a bright and prosperous future.”

Mary Church isn’t necessarily a quiet person, but she’s a quiet hero whose story needs to be shared with a larger audience. She learned at a young age how to use her voice to make a difference. I can’t wait to follow her story as it develops over time. Just as I can’t wait to see how my own children will develop their own voices over time—as long as their mother can shut up and let them get a word in edgewise.

The Suburban Outlaw is an actress, playwright, presentations skills coach and recovering lawyer living in Pittsford with her husband, two children and dog. Visit suburbanoutlaw.com, or herRochester.com for her blog.