Chris Milne Writes: Poetry, Philosophy and Essays

Written Approx: February, 2022

My voice is the unique expression of the ideas of one particular manifestation of the universe pondering itself. This truth is one in which all should understand, for it fosters deep self-love and appreciation. My whole life I have dealt with self-loathing, for I felt unlovable. I felt problematic, difficult, unorthodox, and therefore faulty and undesirable. This in turn led to a vicious self-reproach to aim at making me more fit, more desirable, more able to be loved. For my young psychology decided I was the problem, and that I needed to do something to fix it.

Part of this fix was silencing myself. Due to my temperament, I had issues in communication as a young child. For my learning disability drastically affected the development of skills to read body language and subtle social ques. I could not naturally communicate with others effectively, and therefore blockaded myself to the quiet yet safe company of my own thoughts and ideas. For if I may not communicate with the world, I can at least find solace in my own depths. This, plus my natural tendency to introversion left me with a lack of self-confidence. I felt when I spoke what I said was irrelevant, uninteresting, worthless, and even possibly dangerous; for I had gotten myself into trouble before for things I said. What made me silence myself the most was the lack of understanding. On some occasions when I got in trouble for things I said, I genuinely meant no harm. I was a curious and interested kid who wanted to know everything! The world was so fascinating through my tiny hopeful and youthful eyes. Yet I could not communicate this innocent interest without pushing the wrong buttons or crossing the wrong lines. But few cared to appreciate my intention. For it was the words I said and the damage that they did, not my innocent curious intent that mattered. And I was reproached for my word choice, or my lack of displaying the right body signals. I was never understood. Never carefully questioned and examined: never deeply paid attention too. Of course, I was eventually diagnosed with a learning disability and things did get better, but the damage was done: I was happy being alone, being silent.

For alone and quiet was the safest place for me. I couldn’t upset people with my questions or misunderstandings, and I couldn’t get hurt by their lack of understanding. How can one misunderstand you when you do not act? I had created a safe space for me to coast and ride the tide of time, and I never left this bubble until university. I could coast at half-pace, get by, and get out and return to the comfort and sanctuary of my own mind and thoughts. It was my portable and permanent safe space: I could enter it anywhere and anytime when I was bored, or when I felt alone or misunderstood. But my safe space was never a happy place. It was lonely, and I yearned to be understood. I yearned to communicate, to foster relationships, to be loved and be heard. It was only after my Grade 12 English and History teacher allowed me the freedom to speak my mind and gave me positive feedback on my thoughts that I started to feel comfortable venturing out. On one winter morning after history class, my teacher pulled me aside and told me: “you have potential, you just needed to apply yourself”. It was after this interest and positive feedback when I first realized that my voice mattered. That my unique perspective granted me a worthy position to speak! That what I said could be appreciated and had value.

It was not until a few years later in university when I felt this truth most prominently. It was not in class, although I found positive feedback and acceptance by my peers. It was at a funeral for a family friends’ uncle that I attended. At this funeral, I talked to the family friend – the boy who had lost his uncle – that I grew up seeing once a year. This boy is a few years younger than I, and we would always play games and enjoy a lovely day when we visited their home. On one occasion, we had just eaten brunch and his father asked if he would play some music for us on the piano, for he had been practicing and taking lessons. Obviously shy, he performed briefly for us a small sample of his skill. We listened, and my brother and I congratulated him on his ability, told him how impressive it was that he played piano, and that we were both jealous of his musical skills. My brother and I are both into music, but I personally lack the talent to play, and I always wished I learned the piano. We genuinely were jealous of him and impressed by his skill.

At that funeral, he was talking with us about life and when we used to hangout. He mentioned this memory of when we supported his musical endeavor. He told us that at the time he was losing interest and only half-assing it when his father asked him to practice. He just didn’t care about it as much anymore and thought about quitting. But, he said, that after our praise of his performance he fell back in love with it. He started to enjoy it again, and thought it was cool! He not only continued to study music but was in a band in high school. Even further than that, at the funeral for his uncle – the funeral I was at – he played a recording of an original piano piece he wrote, about the grief he was facing for his uncle who had passed away. Not only did my brother and I encourage him to continue a positive habit and gain more confidence in it, but we helped him foster a form of expression so personal to him, that he felt confident to express his grief in song for his uncle who passed away, in front of everyone.

In that moment, I realized the most important truth I have learned: your voice matters. With just a sprinkle of genuine praise and excitement I changed that person’s life. I had beyond any reasonable doubt evidence to accept a truth I ran from my entire life: my voice matters. Each and every one of our voices matters. For words are far more powerful than we sometimes accept. Sure, they may not break your bones, but they can utterly alter the course of a person’s life – if that is not power, I am not sure what is. And today I think I genuinely accept this truth: I will no longer hold back the words on the tip of my tongue. I have learned that my childhood view wasn’t necessarily wrong: I will incur costs for the words I say, and I may not like the ways others react. But my words are my truth. My voice is my power. And if my speech is to lead me down a road of foible and faults, danger and damage then so be it. That is what life requires, and a man is one who accepts the responsibilities before him and commits to their completion with grace and dignity. I will no longer feel fear for the consequences of my speech. I will mess it up, I will fall, but I will get up. For I am just the same boy I was before: the curious kid with the biggest rosiest glasses around. My intentions are pure, for love and compassion are all I aim to foster. If I am misunderstood as I was before, then so be it. I now have the strength to accept my fate. I have found the courage to stand up and say loud and proud: “fuck it”. For it is my right, like that of all to speak their truth. I no longer fear the naysayers, the costs, or the consequences. I have found the courage to speak my truth.

I have found: my voice.