A meeting I was part of spent a chunk of time on the frequency of communication. People expressed their views around getting a rash of voice mails, and how it pushed them into overload. In other instances, however, there were not enough details forthcoming. Is an event cancelled, or are they plunging ahead?

The case in point was the recent snowstorms, but it is a recurring dilemma. What is the right balance of data? Do people ignore group messages, or heed them? In my short years the avenues for direct contact have exploded. I can think of six without resorting to apps or yelling. I only mention that because I admit to texting my twins who live on the third floor. 

When I was a little girl, baby announcements took the form of a cardboard sign on the check out counter of my uncle's grocery store. Everyone in town was sure to come by sooner rather than later and would read the happy news. Pink for girls, blue for boys. My cousin said she saved hers for years, and remembered the stats of another cousin born a short time later written in black magic marker on the other side. No need to waste. 

One of the complications however, is that most of us are, well inconsistent.

"Talk to me... Now stop talking to me... Why aren't you saying anything?"

There is a patch of dialogue in the Gottman book I am reading where the wife complains that her husband of fifty years barely talks. Just one word responses. Then later in the same interchange she rails at him for going on and on and on for ten minutes. 

Did she even hear herself? 

Do I hear myself? 

The same complaints show up between my ears.

"John, why aren't you confiding in me? John, why are you droning on and on?"

I suppose the golden ratio of how much to say to other people may elude me until I can become content with the frequency with which they choose to speak.