Last night I attended a very productive meeting. A group of forward thinking entrepreneurs in the Valley are planning an event. I can't always say meetings are productive but this one was. The ladies should be applauded for that. It is not easy getting eleven A-type women to have a productive meeting. There were good discussions, some playing devil's advocate (in my opinion that is good, as you need to see all sides of a situation before making a sound decision), some waiting until the room went quiet before they spoke - so polite. And then there was me. (I've got a feeling Tammy may include herself in there with me too).
I came home with my hand over my mouth and my inner voice telling me I should have kept it shut a little more. I can be so outspoken. I go to these meetings thinking "okay Ann, be a sponge. Less talking, more listening." But then, I will hear something that gets me spurred on. Good or bad it doesn't matter, my leg will start twitching, my arm will start fighting with itself - up/ done/ up/ done. My tongue is tensed up like it is trying to lifts dumbells in my mouth and out it blurts. My interjection/ objection/ declaration what have you. I just can't hold my tongue any longer. I can't help it. I am passionate. I speak with conviction and I always want to make sure that whatever decision we make is the best decision.
I came home around 10pm and plunked down into my red chair (it is the best chair for plunking down in). I look over at Big G and the only thing he says as he lowers his head and raises his eyebrows is "What did you say???" I laughed because he knows me so well.
It's not that I was fired up with anger about the meeting, no, it was passion I expressed as I shared all the details with my love. I got to reminiscing about the old days when my father would come home from a board meeting for "this" or a town council meeting for "that". I remember him and Mom in the kitchen sharing a cup of tea and listening to Dad speak with such passion about the events "Well, I told them this and if they thought otherwise, they could just do ...". back then I used to get mad, because my 10 yr old body wanted to sleep but Dad's booming voice would always wake me. Now, I smile. I am the spitting image of my father. And although I sometimes come home from meetings with my hand over my mouth wishing I hadn't said so much, I am also secretly happy that I don't.
As long as I have a voice I will use it. Someday it might be gone.
...in response to T is for by ABC Wednesday