Blare: (v) to make a loud, harsh sound.
I met Sammy at a music festival.
She was unusual, and not just because her name was Sammy. She was flamboyant, but in that way that was pleasing and attractive.
She had great energy.
She was talented.
She was conversational.
Yet she found herself desperate for human contact. No one wanted to be around Sammy because when she spoke, she was so loud.
The word “brash” was associated with her, and of course, lots of folks accused her of “blaring.”
There are times that even I grew weary of her voluminous responses, wishing she would tone down. After a while, the sound was so intense that my ears had to slow down the flow so my brain could understand.
But I persisted because she was well worth the effort.
Sammy invited me over to a family gathering.
I arrived at the small, two-bedroom house, which was completely encompassed with at least 25 people.
They were all loud.
Matter of fact, they made Sammy appear to be the timid mouse. I realized that she had learned to project her voice just to be heard in this environment and not be left out at dinnertime from the baked potato distribution.
It was such a great lesson for me.
Now, when I run across people who blare at me, I realize that they’re possibly frightened that nobody will hear them without the implementation of multiple decibels.
Life is not as complicated as we make it out to be. Everyone who gains our disapproval has a story–a tale which needs to be understood.
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