by Flemming Funch
I used to think I spoke and wrote English really well, considering that it isn't my first language. And maybe I'm not too bad, but recently I catch myself looking at what I write, and it seems like I'm just babbling about things I don't really know anything about, using the wrong words, put together wrong. Just mimicking what real people are doing. Like an improv comic giving a convincing lecture on nuclear physics in Chinese, despite knowing neither. Buckminster Fuller once had a personal crisis where he wasn't sure what anything really meant, and he vowed to not speak again before he would be able to say things precisely. He didn't say anything to anybody for about two years, and when he finally did, what he was saying was indeed amazingly coherent and precise. But he was also inventing a bunch of words nobody else was using. Hm, I'm not planning on duplicating that. But maybe I'll spend a bit more time in silence each day, so I can be more sure that I'll actually be saying things that need to be said.
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