Desperate to Be Heard

Humans are odd creatures. I mean, what other creature invents a 9-to-5 workday, spinach bread, or mittens? Yes, I know. I could rest my case here and you would leave this post fully agreeing with me. But we’re even stranger. We gather in groups and talk at people. We utter statements with no relation to the statements that came before. We want to be a part of the pack so much that we don’t even care about what the others in the pack are saying, just as long as we can interject with our little bit.

I realize that 1. not everyone does this, and 2. almost everyone does this. It’s just one of those accepted juxtapositions. And it relates a lot to what I have written about before – in Stories of I. But this is something I have noticed a lot recently. People speak without listening. People speak over each other. People just speak.

To me this indicates a much bigger issue than simply being rude, or self-absorbed. It points to the fact that we have become surface creatures. The weather, the latest sports-ball result, anything, and everything to avoid discussing anything real. And yet, by constantly talking, we are so desperate for someone to listen to us. So desperate that we railroad conversations with our own, use other people to talk about ourselves, and just generally miscommunicate.

From using any excuse to talk about your travels, to becoming a caricature on the mention of food, we seem intent on having someone acknowledge our existence. Someone, anyone, to listen to us, to let us know we have worth. We’re so desperate to be heard that we don’t care what we spout into the void, just that we do. Twitter is a prime example of this.

But why? Why is this? Why do people behave in such ways? And why does it seem like almost no-one notices?
I don’t have an answer, only a theory.

We’re told our whole lives that we’re valuable, we are special (yes, even the so-called boomers) from our parents to the TV selling us something. And if we’re special, then we need to have something important to say. And if we have something important to say then we must have someone listening to us. So, we speak. The problem is we’re all yelling into the void at once. And we’re all yelling the same thing – almost nothing interesting. Because by our very nature of being special, then of course our thoughts on the weather are special. And unique. And different.

We’re all yelling surface level crap because we’re too scared to come to grips with the fact that we’re ordinary and we have nothing interesting to say. And at the same time, we’re so desperate for someone to listen to us. Our real selves. The selves that have hopes, dreams, ideas and plans.

But no one ever asks you what you think you were put on earth for. Everyone asks you what you think of the weather. Then they can tell you what they think of the weather.

And the cycle continues.
“Listen to the important nothing I have to say” we all shout.