The Casualness of Speech and the Importance of Giving People Honor

In answering this writing prompt that asked,
“Can you share a time when you felt loved?”

And I found myself pausing on that small, ordinary word: can.

Of course I can.
But that was never really the question.

What the prompt was really asking was not about ability, but about willingness. And maybe even about whether such a story should be shared at all.

That single word carried me back to childhood, to ringing house phones and being taught that you did not say, “Can I speak to so-and-so,” but “May I speak to so-and-so.” Not because anyone doubted your ability to speak, but because you were being taught to ask with respect.

You were being taught to recognize that the other person had a choice and had value.

When we ask someone to share a memory, a feeling, or a piece of their story, we are not asking for something simple. We are asking for access to their inner life, to their memories, to who they are. That deserves more than efficiency. It deserves more reverence than the word can allows. It deserves permission, not assumption.

We live in a very casual age of words.

We text instead of write.
We skim instead of linger.
We ask quickly and move on.

None of this is meant to be unkind. But language shapes how we approach one another, and over time, casual asking can quietly become casual taking and a diminishing of value.

Eloquence is not about sounding impressive. It is about speaking in a way that carries awareness.

Awareness that:

• another person is not required to give us access
• their stories are not content on demand
• their feelings are not owed to us because we asked

When we speak with care, we give honor. And when we give honor, we remind both ourselves and others that their presence has weight, that their life deserves reverence, that they are not merely passing characters in our own narrative.

Perhaps this is why certain words still catch our attention. Why a simple “can you” can feel slightly too small for what is really being requested. Why something in us still listens for “may I,” not as grammar, but as posture.

Not because we long for old rules, but because we do not want to forget how to approach one another with gentleness.

In a world that moves quickly and speaks casually, choosing thoughtful language becomes a quiet act of respect and love. A way of saying: you matter enough for me to ask with care.

And that may be one of the simplest ways we can restore a little of the honor our hurried culture keeps misplacing.