“I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but . . . .”

 

One of your most important duties in writing a memoir is to re-live and re-examine and reconsider experiences—and that includes oh-so-important conversations.

 

Clear communication is difficult.

 

You’ve heard me say this many times: Examine your assumptions and conclusions: Perhaps what you think someone said to you is not what he or she meant.

 

I’ve heard that eighty percent of what we communicate is misunderstood. Eighty percent! The first time I read that, I was stunned.

 

Just imagine the potential ripple effects—it’s a staggering thought.

 

And then there’s this quote:

 

“I know that you believe you understand

what you think I said,

but I’m not sure you realize

that what you heard

is not what I meant.”

(Attributed to Robert McCloskey, State Department spokesman)

 

When I first ran across that information, it shook me up. I began wondering how many times other people had misinterpreted my words, and how many times I had misunderstood others.

 

I remember a couple of times when I experienced the McCloskey quote, above.

 

When I was maybe ten or twelve years old, I was hanging out with my mom in the kitchen while she mixed up cookie dough.

 

While she and I were visiting, I picked up an orange and began to peel it. Back in those days, it was not unusual to see the following stamped on oranges: “Coloring added.”

 

I had always wondered what that meant so, standing there beside my mom at the kitchen counter, I asked, “What does this mean, ‘Coloring added’?”

 

“They add color to make it seem more appetizing,” she said.

 

“It used to be,” she continued, “that we had to add coloring ourselves. But now they do it for us.”

 

That baffled me. “What? How could people add the coloring themselves?”

 

“We dropped a little pill-like tablet into a bowl and used the back of a spoon to mash it into little powdery bits. And then we stirred everything together to make it yellow.”

 

“You stirred it in?!” I asked. “How could you stir powdery coloring into an orange?”

 

She stopped stirring her batter and looked me in the eye. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

 

“I’m talking about an orange. . . . What are you talking about?” I asked.

 

Mom laughed her funny-bone-tickled laugh until tears ran down her cheeks. “I thought you were talking about margarine! I was stirring margarine into the sugar when you asked the question. We used to have to stir coloring into margarine to make it yellow!”

 

Ah, finally the conundrum was solved!

 

That was a harmless miscommunication.

 

But sometimes—too often—miscommunication has potential to cause harm.

 

For example, one morning I stood beside my sweet sister-in-law, Sandra, as she made breakfast. I watched as she dropped eggs into a non-stick frypan and began to stir.

 

“You didn’t put in any oil?” I asked.

 

“No,” she said as she stirred.

 

“Hmmmm” I muttered.

 

This is what I was thinking: Non-stick frypans are great, but I’ve never seen anything like this. No oil!

 

I watched the eggs for a few more seconds and, mostly babbling to myself, I said, “I’ve always added oil first.”

 

Sweet Sandra picked up on my mumbling and quickly offered, “I can add oil if you’d like.”

 

At that moment I realized I’d miscommunicated. She sensed I was criticizing her for not using oil.

 

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” I hurried to explain. “I was just thinking of all the oil—and calories—I’ve eaten over the years when I didn’t need to!”

 

And the two of us had a good laugh.

 

I’m so glad we figured that out because I wouldn’t want her to think I was criticizing her.

 

But—and this is important—here’s my point: How many conversations did you have in the past that were, in reality, miscommunications?

 

Maybe your memoir includes stories about conversations—

with parents, siblings, children, in-laws,

friends, bosses, teachers, coaches, or spouses

that resulted in strained relationships,

broken hearts, or ended relationships.

 

Perhaps those conversations were defining moments,

when your life turned in another direction.

 

Maybe over the years

you’ve never gotten over the anger and offense.

Possibly you’re still holding a grudge.

Perhaps you’ve never been able to forgive.

 

And yet, maybe it was a matter of miscommunication!

 

Maybe what you heard the other person say

is not what the other person meant at all!

 

Give yourself ample time to re-live such conversations.

Re-think them. Re-evaluate them.

Then maybe get in touch with the other person and hash it out.

 

Perhaps, together with God, the two of you can

untangle past misunderstandings and hurt feelings

and restore your relationship.

 

And then you can write something altogether different

in your memoir than you had planned.