The Gift of Losing My Voice

What a week of forced silence taught me about gratitude, friendship and showing up.

Nearing the end of a hectic week of speaking, I could feel it coming.

What began as a raspy voice at the start of one talk turned into a whisper by the end. As a sinus infection intensified, my throat swelled, swallowing hurt and my body ached, but the hardest part wasn’t the pain.  It was the silence brought on by laryngitis.

For a man who makes his living with words, losing my voice felt like losing a part of myself.

After a week of quiet, though, as my voice slowly returned, I realized something unexpected: Losing my voice gave me gifts I didn’t know I needed.

A Deeper Gratitude

I begin each morning giving thanks — for Beth, our kids, our family, freedom, faith, meaningful work, sunshine, hot coffee, cold beer, life itself.  But rarely do I recognize the gift of my voice.

As a child, I went months without it in the hospital. As an adult, I’ve lost it a few times. And still, I take it for granted.

Forced silence reminded me: the most ordinary gifts are often the most extraordinary.

The Joy of Listening

Beth and I treasure mornings on the porch with coffee and evenings unwinding together. I like to think I’m a good conversationalist.

Turns out, I talk too much.

This week, I couldn’t fix, respond quickly, or interrupt anything she discussed. I could only listen. And strangely, some of our best conversations happened in the quiet.

What most of us need isn’t advice. It’s presence.

A Loyal Friend

When someone wanted to know where I was, I’d whistle so they could find me.

And every time, before the child could make their way up the steps or down to my office, Emma, our dog, would come racing first. Tail wagging. Bone dropped. Ready.

To her, a whistle means, “You’re needed.”

There’s something beautiful about the type of friend who runs toward you without needing explanation, reward or any type of gift. Who simply shows up because they might be needed.

What blessing to have friends like that.

And what a reminder to be a friend like that.

My friends, my voice has returned now. But my prayer is the lessons learned in silence remain, too.

Don’t wait for illness to remind you what matters. Don’t wait for silence to teach you to listen. Don’t wait for loss to reveal the gift.

Today, give thanks for what you’ve overlooked. Listen more deeply, lean into conversation and remember that sometimes less truly is more.

And in that, you’ll come to savor the beautiful, ordinary gifts that are already right in front of you.

Today is your day. Live Inspired.