For over twenty-five years, I represented my country—to other countries, at trade talks, in the United Nations. During that time, I argued fiercely for my positions in internal discussions, but every time I walked out the door of the Embassy or Mission or State Department, I put on my diplomatic face, masking my feelings and reactions, and presented the agreed U.S. position to the world.
When asked what it was like to be a diplomat, I would often compare it to being on stage— every movement watched closely for subtle signs of possible position changes, words dissected for potential hidden meanings. A skilled negotiator learns her lines, and then imbues them with feelings, emotions, meaning, to make them believable to those on the opposite side of the table—whether she supports the position or not. A truly gifted negotiator listens intently to fellow diplomats, searching for meaning in their words, placing herself in their position in order to better understand motivations and then, reframes her arguments in a way that will resonate with others, convincing by entering their world and guiding their logic until their path was turned, just enough, to meet her underlying objective.
To be clear, this was not a game. I held, and continue to hold, many of my colleagues from around the world in highest esteem. I respect their views, and the efforts they make to protect their fellow countrymen, just as I worked to protect mine. Many made great sacrifices, personal and professional, to uphold our shared values of peace and respect. Some lost their lives. Listening to them opened my mind, increased my understanding, and broadened my world. Together, we worked to reduce conflict and build peace. I will forever value the opportunity I had to work with these dedicated individuals, and am honored to have been among those privileged to be called diplomat.
On some topics, my positions changed as I saw challenges from new, and at times uncomfortable, perspectives. Colonialism, resource use, fair trade have very different meanings when seen from the point of view of those living in what is often referred to as the developing world. Freedom and security have different emphases in countries working to recover from conflict, or trying desperately to avoid sliding into the chaos of war. Privilege, something which I owned by the simple fact of having been born white in the United States of America, I now see in a very different light after living under totalitarian rule.
In other areas, I travelled along a path of understanding, gaining more knowledge about global health, climate change and the laws of war. And as I journeyed, my positions also developed, becoming more holistic, incorporating newer data and broader perspectives, evolving as innovative technologies were introduced, discoveries were made, and our collective understanding of the world around us changed.
And on some core issues—human rights, respect, personal opportunity, social justice—my positions strengthened, reaffirming those values that have always been part of who and what I am. The roots have grown deeper, the branches stronger, yet always attached to the same trunk of beliefs.
One key difference between actors and diplomats is that, for the diplomat, the world is our stage. Representing the United States of America overseas or at the United Nations means that every move is watched, every word listened to and analyzed—sometimes literally every moment of the day. Privacy disappears, personal opinions do not exist. Every offhand comment or inadvertent expression can be taken as a possible change of position. For years at a time, my words were not my own, but rather those of the country I represented.
The weight of that responsibility is enormous, yet I would not trade those experiences for all the tea in China. The courage, strength, insights and true grit of those I met humbled me, and gave me hope that, despite the seeming overwhelming negativity and inequities we face, we as human beings do have the capacity to overcome.
Yet all those years of enforced silence, of carefully editing my words and actions, has left me hesitant, unsure at time how to access, much less express, my own thoughts, feelings, attitudes. What are my positions on the questions of the day? Can I really say that?
As I entered into retirement, I recognized a driving need, a longing, to find my own voice, to be able to know and express my own views, flavored by the unique experiences of a life nurtured in rural America, educated among free thinkers and elites, and then lived out around the world. From bustling Latin American heights to deep European forests, from vast African savannas to towering Asian peaks, I have walked those paths, drunk those waters, eaten those fruits, and been changed. How, then, to share these wonders with those not blessed to have experienced such life-affirming realities? How to find my voice?
I began my search in the most literal way possible—voice lessons. I have been involved in music all my life, beginning piano lessons at the same time I began school. Memories of childhood include slogging through piano practice, studying for theory exams and the sheer terror of concerts and competitions, interspersed with brief, reaffirming remembrances of the feeling of accomplishment when my fingers worked in perfect harmony with my brain, and Khachaturian’s Toccata in D Minor finally fell into place. Pounding out my adolescent frustrations with Bach, pouring my unrequited longings into Beethoven, music was the background to my life, always there yet not at center stage.
In adulthood, I joined choirs as much for the social connections as for the music. With my ability to read notes and stay on key, I filled in at whatever part was missing, from first soprano to tenora. Never a soloist, always a reliable member of the chorus, from kindergarten school programs to Latin church masses, I worked hard at blending in. For years, I had wanted to learn how to sing properly, not from any desire to improve my tonal quality, but rather to improve my breathing, so I didn’t turn blue as I staggered to the ends of those sustained notes. Survival was my sole motivation.
So, at over fifty and with more than forty years of choral singing under my belt, I appeared for my first voice lesson. The first months consisted of overcoming my fear, of singing out, of hitting the wrong note, of sounding screechy, of being heard. Never one to belt out tunes, even when alone in the shower, the idea of projecting my voice was foreign, and terrifying. I spent years working on calm, controlled expression and now I was supposed to let go and vocalize? I don’t think so!
Fortunately, my instructor was patient, encouraging me to close my eyes and feel the music, to think about the song rather than about me. To my great surprise, I can hit those high notes, and and even sustained that ending high A for the required two measures. Success! But no, my instructor wanted more. She casually announced that I was now in the rotation of cantors, and would be expected to sing the Psalm once a month, in front of the congregation, by myself! What was she thinking?? Yet, hadn’t I started this process to move out of my comfort zone, to stretch and grow. So, with much trepidation, shaky knees and wobbling breath, I stood in front of thirty people, opened my mouth and sang. Afterwards, numerous congregants came up to me to inform me of how much my singing touched them. They were being kind. My voice wavered, the pitch questionable at best, and the tempo was “unique” as I galloped through what is usually a meditative piece. Still, the song was sung and I was still standing. I had accessed a part of myself that had been hiding, tucked away behind keyboards and choir robes. For the first time since my carefree preschool days, I was able to let go and sing!
Finding my voice in other areas is a continuing journey. Writing as part of an Amherst Writers’ Group, learning to let go of structure and, as the method says, write from the heart. Not something that comes easy for this Type A planner. Still, I have found that, by loosening my hold on the formal thinking process, just letting the pen move across the page where it will, I am able to express meanings and insights that surprise even me.
What follows are some of the pieces I have written as part of this journey of exploration, this search for my voice. They draw on my experiences, my feelings, my thoughts. Some reveal my values while others lay bare the confusion and questioning that still exist in my heart. I do not have all the answers, even for myself, yet others have assured me that my writing brings joy, understanding, and yes, sometimes discomfort, to them. May they bring the same to you.
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