"If you were to have ten minutes of my undivided attention, would you want it?"
Husband answers, "Yeeeessss," drawing the word out in hesitation.
Genius that I am, I realize that I've put him on the spot. Part of me couldn't resist messing with his head. He is the catnip to my Cheshire Cat. I've got him in my sights.
"The next ten minutes are all yours," I purr. "Go" I say, smiling a mischievous grin.
I'm feeling the power. I watch my husband shift uncomfortably in his chair. The only sound he makes is a puzzled, "ahhhhhhh."
Pitying him, I turn off my laser of focused intensity. Small talk often bores me and I have a terrible habit of verbally hitting people over the head. Worse yet, I sometimes enjoy their discomfort. The best things often take time. "Patience", I tell myself. Turning my gaze away from him, I allow the space between us to be filled with an easy silence.
His words come slowly at first. I listen. My eyes occasionally look into his but not for too long or too intently. I don't want my words or actions to stop the flow of his. This is a mistake I frequently make. Words come too easily to me. After years of silence, I seem to be making up for lost time. I can talk about almost anything and a few things with some intelligence. Words push against my tongue and tumble from my mouth in a chaotic waterfall of sound. This waterfall often surges over others, their words lost in the frentic torrent.
I remain quiet and alert. It takes effort. Listening is a skill that I need to practice. I hold my tongue hostage. Slowly, the words begin to fall from his lips. A steady trickle gives way to a steady stream. I bless him with my attention, often too rare a thing. His words bless me more. They bless the patient waiting, this carving out a quiet space, this simple time spent together. The Just 10 project brings many blessings. Words can not adequately capture my gratitude and the joy that the most simple conversation can bring to an ordinary day.
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