There is a three minute video about a scheme that took place in Istanbul. A bunch of people planned for a month teaching the neighborhood how to communicate in sign language. They conspired to interact with a man who is hearing impaired named Muharrem as he went about his day. Normally he probably feels isolated. But on this morning everyone used gestures to speak to him in a way that he could understand. It was amazing. 

None of the conversations were especially profound. But the people around him had worked to cross the sound barrier that excluded him. It made us both cry... me and Muharrem. 

There are other kinds of fences that divide our relationships. Some women notice that when they sob their husbands retreat. Other people have trouble with feeling inadequate, so they puff themselves up with anger or bravado. My chickens fluff up too, on a cold night. It is a survival technique of sorts. 

A few weeks ago I was at my wits end to reach Benjamin. I asked him in every way I could contrive what he was feeling. But words are not his first language. He had a massage scheduled with a new therapist, and I used my GPS to find the right door on the right corner on the correct street. My expectations were low.

Yet when he came out of her office it was as if he had shed his armor. He was calm, playful even, all day and into the next. Like a broken record I kept asking questions. 

"How was the massage? Did you like it? Do you want to go again?"

I'm a slow learner. Some people think that if you shout louder to a deaf person they will eventually hear you. But sometimes it takes a whole new avenue of connection.