"Why do I write? It's not that I want people to think I am smart, or
even that I am a good writer. I write because I want to end my
loneliness."-Jonathan Safran Foer
These past two weeks have been an epiphany of sorts. While traveling, a bad case of laryngitis, spurrned on by allergies, has forced me to become mute for over a week now. Horribly mute. Terribly, horribly mute.
There are some who would say this is a good thing; it spurns one one to self-contemplation and reflection. Indeed it has. That's an entertaining notion when it is voluntary and one is prepared for it.
I wasn't.
The hardest part of all this has been the absolute loneliness that has accompanied it. Accustomed to daily human interaction, this forced exile has become a prison sentence with an uncertain parole.
Reduced to to the point of uttering monosyllabic grunts and squeaks, the possibility of interaction with others has been essentially been eliminated. Normal conversation disappears. Faced with the only response being nonverbal, most cut it short or turn away. Well-meaning friends say "call me"--as if I could. These days I communicate by pantomime or by writing on a small erasable white board--when I have to.
But, all in all, I have been a better teacher this week. Forced to become the guide on the side, my students have all by themselves eagerly tackled the challenges I've silently offered. My inability to interfere with their learning has taught me a valuable lesson;
In stillness I allow them to learn.
