I’ve been told...by everyone...that I talk too much.
I disagree.
Maybe other people just talk too little…
My inability to shut up was first documented in second grade.
My teacher offered to pay me 25 cents if I could go an entire day without talking in class.
I never made a penny.
You would think somewhere along the way I would have learned that not every thought needs to be shared.
I have not.
Which brings me to story number two…
Oprah.
Years ago, when I was married and had just started my company, Live Wire, the internet was still practically a newborn. If you wanted to research something, you went to the library.
One afternoon, I planned to watch Oprah because the entire show was about entrepreneurs. Then a plane crashed, ABC News took over, and I missed the show.
Around 1 a.m. that night, I decided to see if this newfangled internet thing could help me find the transcript.
Instead, I ended up on Oprah’s website, where a little window popped up asking whether I had read Tuesdays with Morrie and whether the book had affected my life.
Now, you need to understand something.
The Kaufmans are storytellers.
This I had in the bag.
I typed up a story about how the book had brought my husband and me closer—semi-bullshit—and hit SEND.
I wasn’t even sure it went anywhere.
The next day, my phone rang.
“Hi, I’m calling from The Oprah Winfrey Show.”
Naturally, I assumed one of my friends was screwing with me.
So I responded appropriately.
With a couple of obscenities.
Turns out...
It was really Oprah’s show.
One thing led to another, and suddenly my husband and I were being flown to Chicago to appear on Oprah with Mitch Albom.
I wasn’t worried.
I had worked in television. I’d been behind the camera. I’d been in front of the camera. And most importantly, I had spent my entire life proving that I could talk under almost any circumstances.
So there we were, sitting in the audience just a few rows from Oprah, when I heard her say:
“When we come back, we’re going to hear from Joey Kaufman Heiberg about her experience with her husband.”
The plan was to say something brilliant. Something profound. Something so moving that Oprah would stare into my eyes and think:
Where has this woman been all my life?
Obviously, she would invite me to dinner.
We’d become best friends.
Probably vacation together...
That did not happen.
Commercial ends.
Oprah introduces us.
We stand up.
She looks directly at me.
She asks me a question.
And I say...
Nothing.
Not one word.
Nada.
I don’t even remember what she asked me.
For the first time in my life, I had absolutely nothing to say.
And that, my friend, is how Oprah, the almighty great one, shut me up.
I think my family sent her a thank-you note. They’d been trying to do it for decades.
So yes, I’ve tried keeping my mouth shut.
It didn’t take.
And these days, I’m not even sure I want it to.
Talking is kind of my thing.
Talking became storytelling.
Storytelling became Dolly Mamas.
And all those things I probably should’ve kept to myself? They became sayings.
Turns out, having a big mouth has served me pretty well.
But it makes me wonder…
Who exactly decided the world needed quieter women?
We’ve spent enough of our lives worrying about what we should say, what we shouldn’t say, and who we might offend.
Apparently, “I’m sorry...” has become our opening line.
I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sorry to ask. I’m sorry, but...
Who wrote these rules anyway?
Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too opinionated. Don’t say too much. Don’t be too much.
Maybe “too much” was never the problem. Maybe keeping too much inside was.
At this point in our lives, if we have something to say, maybe we should just say it.
Tell the story. Ask the question. Say no. Say yes. Say what you mean.
And if someone tells you that you talk too much?
Tell them to listen faster.
❤️
joey
