I am a big fan of deep, meaningful conversations.
My favourite discussions are those that transcend superficial chit-chat and engage deeper issues—the kind that leave you with lingering thoughts for days. They are always a delight.
Unfortunately, in this era of instant messaging and increasingly shallow dialogue, we are gradually losing this invaluable tool that has shaped humanity for centuries.
Of course, there is a place for small talk in social interaction. However, it’s mostly all small talk these days, and there is an acute need to revive the culture of meaningful discussions that allow us to better understand ourselves as individuals and the world around us.
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I recently met someone who shares similar sentiments about deep conversations. During one of our discussions, she posed a question that made me pause and reflect.
“What is your story?” she asked.
As with every other question, I promptly attempted to provide an answer, only to realize that I couldn’t. I had never contemplated such a question in the past and had no immediate response to give.
I requested some time to ponder the question.
We eventually had a lengthy tête-à-tête that lasted for hours, during which I learned a great deal about myself. I was certainly not prepared for all that discovery, but while sharing my story, I uncovered some previously obscure truths and connected seemingly random dots.
Your Past Matters
I was a chronic stammerer as a kid.
I could barely make it through a sentence without tightly shutting my eyes and stamping my feet in an attempt to articulate words. My folks told me I wasn’t born that way, and I have no idea of its origin. Someone suggested that it might have been a response to trauma — I can neither confirm nor deny that.
Whatever the cause, the fact remained that I struggled with my speech, and this trait affected how I interacted with the world.
I was smart and often topped my class; however, I dreaded being called upon to answer questions in class. The thought of speaking in front of the class instantly sent me into panic mode, and if you know anything about stammering, you’ll understand that any form of pressure only makes it worse.
I was also one of the youngest in my class and had a small body frame. In an ideal world, coming out on top among folks much older and bigger than you should make you a class favourite. But our world is far from ideal, and with envy in the equation, I became prey—a defenceless prey who couldn’t even defend myself with words.
I was teased frequently and sometimes bullied. When people made fun of me, I would attempt to respond in anger. However, anger only served as a catalyst for increased stammering, which motivated my mockers to ridicule me even more. Most of the time, I would end up in tears, as that was the only expression I was fluent in. Besides being the kid with the tied tongue, I was also seen as a crybaby. That was my identity throughout elementary school.
As a natural response to my predicament, I was timid and reclusive. I maintained a tiny circle of friends who truly accepted me for who I was and sometimes defended me against predators. We studied together, played together, and supported one another. That was my first experience of “true friendship”.
Growing up, I was always wary of prolonged interactions. Plagued by glossophobia, I avoided any form of public attention. I was a bona fide introvert.
Or was I?
Fast forward a few years. As I transitioned from middle school to high school, a miraculous turn of events caused my stammer to disappear. My tongue suddenly became loose, and I found my voice again. I also moved to a new school where no one knew my past. I had the chance to rewrite my social life from a clean slate, and rewrite it, I did.
The difference between my personality before high school and the one I have developed since overcoming stammering is quite vast—so vast that some of my old friends from elementary and middle school can’t fathom the transformation.
This singular change in my speech pattern was mirrored in my overall personality.
By the end of high school, I had transformed from a shy, withdrawn crybaby into a more confident person. While I previously shied away from verbal interactions, the new me looked forward to conversing with others and sometimes engaged in discussions for hours. I was no longer afraid of public speaking and had a larger circle of friends. It was utterly liberating.
My current self could hardly be mistaken for an introvert. Although I still experience moments of minimal social enthusiasm, my social skills have developed significantly compared to what they once were.
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I shared this tale with my friend, and as I recounted my story, I wondered: Was I ever a natural introvert, or did I adopt that identity due to circumstance? Upon reflection, the latter seems more likely. If I were a natural introvert, I would still be one even after recovering from stammering. However, it appears I have only uncovered my true personality after regaining my voice.
Past experiences shape who we ultimately become.
In the words of B.J. Neblett, “We are the sum total of our experiences. Those experiences – be they positive or negative – make us the person we are, at any given point in our lives. And, like a flowing river, those same experiences, and those yet to come, continue to influence and reshape the person we are, and the person we become. None of us are the same as we were yesterday, nor will be tomorrow.”
You and I came into this world as blank canvases, and every experience—past, present, and future—adds a brushstroke to the art that is our lives. We arrived as blank pages, and every event becomes another sentence in our story.
Genuine growth demands that we constantly refine our artwork and rewrite our narratives, one chapter at a time. It requires us to reflect on past experiences, learn from them, and commit to correcting misguided brushstrokes and poorly crafted sentences.