Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

In a committee meeting a few months back, we were skimming through dozens of proposals, each of which had to be formally 'moved' on and 'seconded.' Midway through the meeting, I was in a position to second a motion, so I did: "second." There's a pause. The chair of the committee growls, "I need a second." Prof. W, who serves on more than one committee with me, speaks up in his 250-pounds-of-muscle voice: "[Piers] seconded it. He's just quiet."

Quiet. I guess it can have all kinds of connotations: thoughtfulness, serenity, fear, pride, and so on. I've preferred to think my quiet came from a combination of thoughtfulness and humility, of not valuing my voice over others'. After all, how many exhortations to listen are we subjected to as children (and adults)? And it's been the case--still is--that I sit mostly silently through meetings of any kind, unless I have some role to play.

It has also, I admit, been a mask. And it needn't mean that I am mute--it can mean that there are things that go unsaid, for any number of reasons. It can also mean that I'm not actually honest in expressing my mind, in responding to other people. Most of those reasons have to do with my wanting to limit the exposure of my flanks: one of the best ways to do that is be just equivocal enough to avoid making a strong position to defend. The other way to do that is to perceive what people want to hear and then appear to offer it to them.

It needs to stop. I've been trying to be more genuine, but when things have gotten a little tense, I've fallen back on old habits of hiding. The cost: I'm lonely, because I'm passive in my approach to other people. Fear keeps me silent. Is there a cost to honesty? Of course: I'll be exposed. But it's a change that needs to happen:

Speak what is actually in my mind, not what I think is desired of me.