Lately, I find I’m listening more.
People assume I’m retired—because I am—and they often ask, “What did you do?” More than likely, I tell them I professed. It’s easier to generalize than to choose one title from the many roles I held during my college life. Even when I was the college’s graphic designer or senior electronic technician, I was still talking a great deal.
So now, on the other side of Wednesday, after staring into the abyss, I’m finding that I’m listening more. I should have done this earlier.
Today, I visited the college. While resting on a convenient bench to catch my breath, two students sat nearby, close enough for me to hear their entire conversation. I listened.
The first words, spoken by the older student, caught my attention:
“This is a speech class that focuses on critical thinking, so it doesn’t have the space to get into specific speech topics brought up by the class.”
He was sympathizing with the younger student, providing a critical analysis of the situation. I was intrigued. My wife probably wrote the textbook they were using.
The older student was probably in his sixties and had lived in Washington, D.C., for a few years. He gave his take on the current political scene. His thinking was clear, reflective—until the end, when he said:
“They are supposed to be elected to serve the people’s need. And we know that is not true.”
Truth?
Ah, the old Greek question: What is truth? The potential for mental coma is great when pondering that one. Truth, beauty, quality—those are heavy words.
Still, what is truth?
Two plus two equals four. Seems true. Absolute, even.
But forty years of visual thinking and graphic design have taught me that sometimes, two plus two is twenty-two.
Oh.
What about: “The sun is shining because it is noon and there are no clouds.”
Well, it takes eight minutes for sunlight to reach Earth. It was true—but eight minutes ago. Is it still?
Truth is slippery.
Every time I hear someone say they know the truth, I lean in. I listen closer.
At the end of their conversation, the older student said:
“This White Supremacy is a thing.”
I knew what he meant. He was using a convenient label to connect with his listener. It wasn’t meant for me—I was eavesdropping. But it wasn’t a great example of critical thinking.
I’m white, but not supreme.
That’s the thing about labels. They get to the point quickly.
But sometimes, they get there too quickly.
