The trouble with being a verbal processor with lots of ideas is that it’s hard to tell if your idea is good or not, without asking for input.

And then after you’ve told someone your bright idea, it’s like the shine wears off and you’re left with just another dull idea.

The way people react (or don’t) may determine whether you follow through or not.

Sharing your thoughts and ideas is a proofing ground; a necessary step before anything can take shape.

But getting feedback on your thoughts and ideas is so intoxicating that you don’t actually have to carry anything out, because it feels so good just to talk about your plans.

But if it just feels good to talk about your plans and ideas, and the conversation provides the fulfillment you’re looking for, there’s not much impetus to follow through and make anything happen.

If you don’t feel the need to make things happen in order to be fulfilled, you may feel the same way that I find myself feeling, all too often.

Like maybe I’m all talk, and no action. Maybe my words are empty and aren’t to be trusted.

Actions speak louder than words, but my actions are silent while my lips chatter away.

Maybe… if I want to ensure that I follow through on something, I shouldn’t proof the plan in advance. Maybe I should skip the discussion phase and go straight to action.

Act first, share later.

But what if keeping my thoughts and plans close to my vest feels like keeping a secret, and keeping a secret feels electric? Or like live worms burgeoning out of their can? What if it feels physically uncomfortable to hold it in?

Once words have been spoken, they can’t be retracted. After years of saying, “maybe not,” “never mind,” or “it didn’t work out,” I’ve come to the realization that saying nothing is far more prudent than saying something, just for the dopamine of the conversation.

So I vowed to keep my cards close.

But I just had to test out how it would feel to say something to someone other than my husband, who will indulge all of my wildest dreams and would carry me through any threshold with joy.

“I asked for a cottage in Norway for my birthday this year,” I told my sister. “I didn’t get it. But maybe next year.”

I just had to know how it would feel to say out loud. How it would feel to field a reaction. I swear, conversation is some kind of a high, when you’re a verbal processor.

“We’re Norwegian,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “Isn’t that cool? It’s in our blood.”

“Don’t they have long days there?” She asked.

“Midnight Sun in the summer and polar nights in the winter. Northern lights.” I was glowing.

My sister, ever the pragmatist, asked, “but isn’t that…weird?”

“Maybe,” I said, “but I think it’s kind of cool. Like, I think you get a different type of harmony with nature and that’s really interesting.”

The next day, I showed her fiancé the real estate listing. “Look at my cottage,” I told him. “Isn’t it cute?”

“What’s the weather like there?” He asked.

I noticed that those minor conversations were enough to take the edge off the excitement that was bursting inside me. I quit pestering my husband about my cottage so much.

For a verbal processor, nothing becomes real until you speak of it. After you speak of it, you have the clarity of mind to decide whether you want to make it become real, or not.

I always thought I was lazy, too easily discouraged, took things too personally, or any number of other character flaws, because of the way I would react (or not) after sharing my many ideas with many people.

But today I realized, I’ve said so many things for so many years, that no one takes me seriously anymore, anyway. So what do I have to lose?

“I’m becoming a wildlife photographer,” I told my mom. “Maybe I’ll put this on my blog,” I told my dad. “We’re hoping to get back to Spain in the spring,” I told a friend. All true, but vague enough to be dismissed as hot air.

As I wrestle with the balance between speaking and silence, I am becoming careful to only say what I mean. For others, it’s up to them to believe me or not. And for me, it’s an opportunity to practice following through with the things I purport.

Whereas I used to gab openly and mindlessly for fear of silence, I am now more at peace with silence than I am with being a person who expresses every whim in hopes of receiving some kind of validation.

As for long days spent fishing and raising sheep in Nordic fjords? Time will tell. Now that the shine has worn off of the secret, I can decide more objectively if I want to pursue that lifestyle or not. Maybe I’ll decide to grow tomatoes in Sicily instead.

And as for the other things I mentioned, albeit veiled in a guise of flippancy, the seeds have already been sown. Right now, they are being watered and coddled until their roots and tender shoots are sturdy enough to withstand the weather. How high they grow, when they blossom, and what fruit they yield, we await with eager anticipation.

But the ground has been cleared, and the garden planted. The rest is up to nature. And now, time will tell.