I’ll never forget the social studies class where I first learned about filibusters, reading the story of Thurmond’s famous 24-hour stall tactic in a classroom magazine publication.
Not content with the information contained in the short article, I raised my hand for more.
“What do they talk about for so long?”
“Anything,” my teacher responded. “Senators have even been known to read their grandmother’s recipes or recite the phone book.”
“That’s dumb,” I replied with the know-it-all wisdom of an eight-year-old. “That’s just wasting everyone’s time.”
“Exactly. That’s the point.”
“So they’re just stubborn and want to get their way. Okay, I get that,” I responded, finally satisfied. But I still thought it seemed kind of dumb. I couldn’t believe that grown adults would resort to such childish methods. Giggling under my breath, I pictured them on the senate floor, fingers in their ears, singing, “Na na na na boo boo. I can’t hear you.” Who knows, it’s probably happened.
Now very few of us live with senators and hopefully you do not reside with someone who demands to have the floor to blather on with endless prattle.
But that doesn’t mean you’re immune to filibuster.
Because it’s not only the domain of congress.
It’s a strategy often employed by our emotions as well.
Where the pain blares on long after it has anything useful to say.
With the sole purpose of not allowing any response.
By all means listen to your pain.
And then at some point, show it the door.
Don’t allow your pain to filibuster.
I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you for all of the kind notes, messages and emails the last couple days. I haven’t been able to respond, but please know I’ve read and appreciated them all.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 