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A LANGUAGE ALL OUR OWN: Growing and Learning from Our Microlanguages

Years ago, while driving in a caravan that preceded the peloton of a cycling race along the back roads of southwestern Virginia and northwestern North Carolina, I noticed something strange and wonderful: the way people said “hello” or “hi.” As we crawled for six hours through 150 miles of country highways, streets and towns without stoplights, I heard “hi,” “hey,” “hah,” “ho,” “hal-loh,” “haw,” and “hello.” That’s seven variations, delivered in voices ranging from deep drawls to excited screams—each distinct to a particular pocket of the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains.

I became absorbed by the perceived mysteries behind each of these greetings. What did the greeting say about the person’s life? What gave the person passion, excitement, joy? The place where he or she lived? Spiritual or cultural influences handed down over generations? The way he or she viewed the world? Family? Friends? Other people? In attempting to decipher the lives behind these one-word codes, I realized two things: There is a reason why the South offers writers the most nuanced spoken language in America; and by listening to the ways in which people speak—and we speak—we can learn the most about someone.

Like those folks along the Tour duPont course, we communicate the blueprints of our lives through our spoken words, our microlanguages. The way we speak—the words we choose, the gestures we use to convey them, the pace at which we deliver words—individuates us from every other human being. We may look alike, dress alike, hold the same jobs, attend the same churches or frequent the same beaches or hiking trails, but when it comes to talking, we truly are speaking our uniqueness on this planet as if each word were a strand of DNA.

A Unique Blend of Life’s Influences

A “microlanguage” is a unique blend of all the cultural, educational, professional and spiritual influences to which we’ve ever been exposed. Every person has his or her own vernacular, slang, colloquialisms, phrases, cliches, and pieces of foreign languages that become part and parcel of the spoken word. Behind our accents, inflections and word choices lies the imprinted story of our lives and our experiences as gathered up to that moment. When we recognize our own microlanguage and learn to listen to others, we can arrive at a greater understanding of and compassion for that person—which can lead to greater understanding and respect for the individual paths and cultures of all people. We can also learn much more about ourselves.

During my life and career, I have traveled throughout the world, lived throughout the United States as well as Europe, and worked or stayed for notable lengths of time in Hawaii, Germany, New York City, Los Angeles, Boston, San Francisco, Tampa, the lower Midwest/upper South and Tucson. I’ve worked for years among Australians and colleagues from all parts of the British Isles. I also grew up surfing, running and playing team sports in San Diego County and have practiced yoga and meditation for many years. When I speak casually, I invoke phrases from Australia, Great Britain, Germany, the Deep South, India, Southern California, sports, corporate America and literature, and throw in some Hawaiian pidgin or a German phrase for good measure. I picked up words from my mother’s Italian family; I still say “andiamo!” when I’m herding young relatives or kids I’m coaching. Sometimes, it drives people crazy (my grandmother once asked me why I write well but don't speak good English!) but this is how I speak. Why? Because people, languages or words from these places became imbedded in my soul, so much so that I “owned” particular phrases or words. This is the upper layer of my microlanguage.

Once we recognize that we are unique in the way we speak, we can utilize this knowledge to effect great change and discovery in our lives and our relationships with others. When I honed in on this truth, the first thing I improved was my ability to listen. Suddenly, everyone with whom I spoke became more interesting. The days of someone “droning on” and me tuning them out ended. By listening to their words and ways of speaking, I learned to gather insight into the person’s motivations, experiences, attitudes, likes, dislikes, trigger points, perspectives and travels. I found it much, much easier to identify points in common with virtually any person from any walk of life—if you boil down the water enough, you will find the minerals that we all share. Nothing boils down better than shared language.

I remember working on a project with a very hard, iron-fisted businessman who used his icy stare, equally frigid words and menacing tone of voice to intimidate and to keep people away from an inner life he would share with no one—perhaps including himself. I’ve rarely been intimidated in this life, but this man scared the heck out of me.

Then one day, while we were going over a budget, he said, “I’m stoked that you kept those numbers below your original projections. “

Stoked… an old surfing term for “happy.” Since he was a few years older than me, I realized he’d surfed at some point. (Stoked only left the beaches to become a mainstream word in the past 15 years). I started asking him about it, and learned that surfing was the only outlet he found that could relieve his stress. Our working relationship changed on the spot.

The Verbs We Choose

Within this man’s sentence, I learned something else about dialing into another’s manner of speaking—listening to the verbs. In this case, a single verb—stoked—introduced me to a side of the man I never would’ve imagined. If our spoken sentences are the cars that transport our views of the world, a moment or a person to others, then verbs are the drivers. In a spoken verb, we can immediately ascertain the other’s emotional state, outlook on the world or situation, how they feel, what they think and see, and their level of balance, euphoria or depression. What’s more, we can also identify whether a person is assertive, passive, or more inclined to draw from the masculine or feminine side of his or her soul. Verbs are so vital to the presentation of a life that novelists and their editors insist on right verb choice to deliver their stories. They can pull heart strings; they can sensationalize; they can carry us deep into mind, body and soul. Pick up any good novel in a bookstore, and watch how the story and characters pivot off the verbs, from one sentence to the other—and how the verbs are particular to a character’s personality and world view. When we absorb this finding back into our lives, we uncover a form of self-analysis that heals and edifies just by looking at the verbs we choose.

Here’s an example of how the verbs of one’s microlanguage define and drivea difficult real-life situation. In September, 1994, my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer; five months later, he died. In those ensuing months, he prepared for his passing in a way that not only reflected his years as a warrior—he was a retired Marine Corps officer—but also the deeply spiritual content of his soul that he kept strictly to himself .

Dad and I were talking about my mother, who was then in her mid-50s. Like other deeply loving husbands about to transition, his concern for his wife trumped concern for himself. Here’s what transpired in his kitchen in his lower Midwestern vernacular, about two months before he died:

"When I go, you just check up on your Ma, your brother and sister," Dad said. He gulped down the remainder of the Ensure; his face balled and wrinkled like an old gnome's fist. "This is awful."

"Then why drink it?"

"Keeps some weight on me. A lot of protein in it. Gotta drink the damn things, 'cause I ain't hungry anymore."

"Of course I'll keep an eye on them."

"As for your Ma, I don't want her sitting around a dark house after I go. That's a bunch of crap. She's still young. Make sure she gets out."

"I can do that."

"And son?" Dad leaned forward; his eyes glistened. "You make sure she knows it's OK with me to find a man to keep her company. She don't need to die just because I'm going to."

"What’s that?"

"You heard me. I ain't gonna say it again. Hurts too much." A tear rolled down his cheek. "I don't want her to be alone for the rest of her life."

In a few choice words and a few choice verbs, he presented the blueprint of his love, his background, his views and his wishes. No one else could have spoken those words in his particular way.

Our Microlanguages Change As We Change

Our microlanguages are neither the Oxford Dictionary of the English Language nor the Duden dictionary of Germany. They’re not etched in stone beneath wagging fingers that warn us against changing words or their meanings, lest we dilute the language. Our speech is as fluid as the experiences that accumulate and redefine our ever-changing lives. Sometimes, our words change as we spend time with friends or colleagues from other countries and cultures. At other times, landscapes or destinations might spark us. When I’m sitting outside with a journal in the bucolic, green Northern California coastal hills in April, my words transform into descriptions of a land infused with deep feminine energy. My spoken language acquires that same softening, nurturing, grounding moonlit quality. However, when I’m about to take on a big challenge, such as a difficult hike, a long running race or a novel, I find my vocabulary laced with words and phrases like “attack,” “dig in,” “go all-out,” “write ‘til you drop,” “charge” or “no pain, no gain” (see the vestiges of a military upbringing in there?) Sometimes, I wonder if I’m the same guy who watched hundreds of sunrises amidst a steep green hillside of sheep, eucalyptus trees, a softly chattering stream and clacking turkeys.

This example of speaking from both sides of our souls and personalities is much more obvious when talking with people who have taken journeys that changed something in their lives. Whether it’s a long trip, a sabbatical or a temporary relocation, people who return from these experiences speak differently than when they left. How many times has a friend who toured Italy tossed out a few endearing Italian phrases? Or someone who’s taken a spiritual pilgrimage talked to you in words that bathe your heart in light? Sometimes, friends are surprised or even flustered. Yet, the worlds and spirits of these people have grown so much that they’ve assumed the words to describe it—thus enriching themselves and their surroundings.

Conversely, the words and inflections of our childhoods and adolescences seem to stay with us forever. They’re the bedrocks of our microlanguages. No matter what other changes life sets before us, we can always “go home” to the comfort of our oldest known words, phrases and ways of speech. Notice how people revert to their childhood accents when they do return home? We all have many friends who created lives in places far removed from the homes of their childhoods, yet when we speak to them, we hear those Californian or Appalachian or inland Floridian or Venetian or Bostonian accents and phrases that recall their earliest years.

It’s very important for our growth as personalities and souls to absorb the language that comes to us, find the words that best capture the experience and feel right to our hearts and souls, and grow our vocabulary in that manner. By choosing or assuming words for our microlanguage, we add to the blueprint of our life on this planet. We grow a little, stretch a little, and take a slightly longer, wider or deeper view of life that is a little less dependent on the viewpoints of others. We grow and change in the same way babies learn to crawl, then walk, then run. Our newly acquired words are our baby steps.

It’s truly beautiful to contemplate how rich and resourceful all of us are when we look into and through the words we speak. Then, when we realize there are 6 billion microlanguages currently being spoken on this planet—with experiences, loves, gains, losses and perspectives attached—we can better appreciate the diversity and wonder of the human family. And our own central place in this life of growth and opportunity.