There’s Nothing I Can’t Explain in Seven Thousand Words or Less

I have never had a short answer in my life.

People ask me simple questions.

I give them documentaries.

Someone says,

"How was your day?"

Friend...

Do you have a snack?

Because this is going to require context.

I'm a writer.

So, in fairness...

Words are kind of my thing.

I love them.

I collect them.

I arrange them.

I dramatically overuse them.

If there were an Olympic event for "Explaining Something That Could Have Been Said in One Sentence," I would bring home the gold.

And then give an acceptance speech.

Here's what happens inside my brain.

Someone asks a question.

Instead of simply answering it...

My brain immediately begins building a PowerPoint presentation.

With supporting evidence.

A timeline.

Several side stories.

At least one disclaimer.

And a conclusion that somehow circles back to where we started forty-five minutes ago.

Take this completely hypothetical conversation.

"Hey Tracy, what time is it?"

Well...

It's funny you should ask because my watch stopped working last Tuesday, which reminds me that I really need a new battery, but then I remembered batteries are in aisle fourteen at Walmart and every time I go to Walmart I somehow spend eighty-three dollars even though I only needed toothpaste, which, by the way, why is toothpaste suddenly so expensive?

...

Oh.

It's 3:15.

My husband has perfected something I call...

The Look.

It's the expression he gets somewhere around Minute Six.

He's still smiling.

Technically.

But his eyes have quietly left the conversation.

He's physically present.

Mentally...

He's wondering whether we remembered to lock the garage.

The really funny part?

Everything I'm saying makes perfect sense.

To me.

Every tangent is connected.

Every detour has purpose.

Every rabbit trail eventually rejoins the main road.

Eventually.

Usually.

Sometimes.

Okay...occasionally.

Imagine my brain as one of those conspiracy boards from detective movies.

Pictures.

String.

Pushpins.

Everything is connected.

So when I tell a story, I naturally assume everyone else can see the string.

Apparently...

They cannot.

I also suffer from what I like to call...

The Important Background Information Disorder.

I cannot simply tell you I went to Target.

No.

You need to know why I went.

What I intended to buy.

What I actually bought.

How crowded it was.

That the cashier reminded me of my third-grade teacher.

The weather.

The parking situation.

The emotional journey.

Only then...

Can I tell you I bought paper towels.

Context matters.

People often interrupt me with,

"You can skip ahead."

Can I?

Can I really?

Because if I skip the part about the squirrel in the parking lot...

How are you supposed to fully appreciate why I forgot to buy the paper towels?

Honestly.

Think these things through.

The worst part is...

I'm aware I'm doing it.

Halfway through a story I'll suddenly think,

"Wow...I'm talking a lot."

So naturally...

I explain why I'm talking so much.

Which somehow makes the story even longer.

It's a gift.

Then there's texting.

Someone asks me a question.

I send...

One paragraph.

Then another.

Then another.

Then I realize I've accidentally written something that could qualify as a short novella.

The little typing bubbles become a public service announcement.

"She's still going."

Voice notes are even worse.

Mine always start with,

"This will just take a second."

Narrator:

It did not take a second.

Eight minutes later I'm apologizing for the length of the voice note...

Inside the voice note.

People sometimes apologize for talking too much.

I've stopped apologizing.

Mostly because I'd have to explain why I was apologizing.

And honestly...

None of us has that kind of time.

The funny thing is...

The older I've gotten, the more I've realized that all those extra words aren't really about loving the sound of my own voice.

They're about wanting to be understood.

I don't just want you to know what happened.

I want you to understand how it felt.

Why it mattered.

What I was thinking.

The connections my brain made.

The reason the story made me laugh.

Or cry.

Or both.

I'm not trying to make the conversation longer.

I'm trying to bring you into my world.

Besides...

If you've made it all the way to the end of this article...

I have some news.

You're probably my kind of person.

Because anyone who willingly read 1,800 words about why I use too many words...

Clearly enjoys people who use too many words.

And for that...

I could never thank you enough.

Although...

Given my personality...

I could certainly try.

But it would probably take another seven thousand words.