Too Much, Too Little, and All that Lies In Between

About eleven years ago, my rabbi delivered a Yom Kippur sermon that I vividly remember. The theme of the sermon was: “sometimes we say too much.” It was a sermon about language, about sharing, about relationships, and about finding that delicate balance of honesty, integrity, and self-preservation. It was the best sermon I’ve ever heard and, in many respects, the most Jewish sermon I’ve ever heard. During the past few months (and especially within the past two days), I’ve been thinking more about this sermon, about the nuances of communication, and about the tension between what we share and what we hold back.

Contrary to this sermon’s message, Poland is not a country in which people say too much. Overwhelmingly, it is a country in which people say too little. Polish culture is not a culture of sharing. It is rare for Poles to forwardly express their opinions or wear their emotions on their sleeves. Indeed, Polish people are quite guarded. Though I, too, have often been described by my friends as “guarded” (and I would generally describe myself as such), I am learning that my self-actualization is profoundly impacted by culture and circumstance.

Achieving a balance between not saying too much and not saying too little is a great challenge. In my relationships, in social gatherings, and at my workplace, this balancing act is all too paramount. I’ve been on both ends of the “too much” and “too little” spectrum. Sometimes I swing the wrong way... and sometimes that hurts.

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Last night was Rosh Chodesh (the Jewish New Moon) for the month of Adar. It is a month characterized by great joy -- “Mishe-nichas Adar, marbim b’simcha.” (Ta’anit 29a). “When Adar enters, our joy increases.” But it is also a month to explore deep questions about identity. During the holiday of Purim (the 14th day of Adar), it is customary to wear masks or costumes. For kids, it is a “dress-up” holiday. For adults, it is a time to examine the “masks” we wear in relation to what we hide. There is a time to wear masks, and a time to reveal what is hidden. For me, the month of Adar is about examining these dualities and the temporal constraints that shape them. It is a month to reflect upon courage.

As part of our Rosh Chodesh gathering, we decided to do a self-assessment art project. Using construction paper, each person cut out two large “selves” (much like paper dolls). On one “self” we were to draw what we show to the world. On the other “self” we were to draw what we hide from the world. Then we would attach our selves respectively. Although I had helped plan this activity and was well-aware of its depth, I had a very difficult time completing it. Part of my difficulty stemmed from the fact that I don’t draw. Indeed, I am a word-nerd and I don’t express myself in images. But a larger part of my difficulty was steeped in the frustration of realizing that so much of who I am is hidden. What I choose to show or share is largely conditioned by what makes others feel comfortable. Perhaps the reason why “sometimes we say too much” resonates with me is because I am generally inclined to keep things close. On the occasions that I haven’t, I’ve done a bit of damage and that damage hasn’t felt good.

The people who I respect most would rival “sometimes we say too much” with “more often, we don’t say enough.” These individuals are proud, loud, dignified, and uncompromising. They are my friends, my intimates, my family members, and my mentors. They are the people reading this blog. And they are believers in Audre Lorde’s “your silence will not protect you.” It is a valuable motto. It is also a complicated one to actualize.

I’ll close with these questions for you to ponder:

How do we know what is “too much” ?
How do we know what is “too little” ?
And how can we navigate all that lies in between?

As always, your responses are most welcome.