I started losing my voice today. Just my physical one, courtesy of what I won't admit is a chest cold that's leaving me with, at best, a dead-on impersonation of Kathleen Turner circa 1980s.
That's not necessarily a bad thing.
By 3pm today, I had reached my lowest point of audibility. So I stopped trying to talk, and focused on my work. And listening. Some of the conversations around me made me laugh, and even that, to myself and soundless, hurt to do so.
That's also not necessarily a bad thing.
There are other types of voices, too. Mental. Spiritual. Creative. Physical not with your vocal cords, but with you body. So sorry, Universe: you managed to wrestle one away from me today - temporarily - but you can't have the others.
Cap it off with a twilight walk with my 13-year-old stepdaughter, who is having very real and very valid and very challenging moments that come with the territory. At that age, the last thing you want to hear, "You'll get over it," even though you are 99.7% they will.
You just. Want. To be heard.
So I listened. To her voice. Grateful to let it take it's rightful place, and to be a part of it.