The Art of Listening

When was the last time you felt truly listened to?

Not simply heard.

Not nodded at while someone waited for their turn to speak.

Not asked How are you? only to realize the expected answer was Good.

I mean listened to.

The kind of listening where someone stays with you. Where they ask another question because they actually want to understand. Where there is enough space between your words that you don’t feel the need to hurry.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.

We talk all day long.

We text. We comment. We send voice messages. We gather around tables. We run into one another in shops and on sidewalks. We ask about the kids, work, vacations, what we’re making for dinner.

And, of course, the weather.

We are constantly communicating.

But how often are we actually connecting?

The conversation underneath the conversation

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with small talk.

Sometimes How about this weather? is simply the doorway.

The problem is when we never walk through it.

There is usually another conversation waiting underneath the one we’re having.

How have you been?

Fine.

But what if we stayed there?

No, really. How have you been?

Suddenly the door opens a little wider.

Maybe they’re navigating something difficult. Maybe they’ve fallen in love. Maybe they’re questioning the direction of their life. Maybe they’re lonely. Maybe they’re happier than they’ve been in years.

We wouldn’t know unless we asked.

And then listened.

I wonder how many opportunities to know one another we miss simply because we move too quickly to the next thing.

Ask the second question

There is an art to asking questions.

Not interrogating. Not prying. Not asking because we need something interesting to say next.

Curiosity.

Someone tells you they just returned from a trip.

We can ask where they stayed.

Or we can ask, What did you love about being there?

Someone tells us their child has left home.

We can ask where they’re going to college.

Or perhaps, What has this season been like for you?

Someone says they’re changing careers.

Instead of What are you going to do?

Maybe it’s What made you realize you wanted something different?

The second question often tells us more than the first.

And then there’s the third question.

The one that comes because we were actually listening to the answer.

That’s when a conversation starts becoming something else.

Listening is not waiting

I think most of us believe we’re good listeners.

I’m not sure we always are.

So much of what we call listening is actually waiting.

Waiting for the opening to tell our story.

Waiting to offer advice.

Waiting to explain how the same thing happened to us.

Someone tells us about their mother and before they’ve finished, we’re talking about ours.

Someone tells us they’re struggling and immediately we begin trying to fix it.

Someone shares something vulnerable and we rush to reassure them because their discomfort makes us uncomfortable.

But sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person is to resist the urge to take their story away from them.

To simply say:

Tell me more.

And mean it.

Let there be a pause

This may be one of the things we’ve lost.

The pause.

We are so uncomfortable with empty space that we fill it immediately.

But I’ve noticed that some of the most meaningful things people say come after a pause.

The first answer is often the easy answer.

Then there is silence.

And if we don’t rush in to rescue the conversation, something else sometimes arrives.

Something more honest.

Maybe listening requires becoming comfortable with that space.

Not every silence needs to be filled.

Sometimes someone is simply finding the courage—or the words—to tell you what they actually mean.

Put down the need to perform

I also wonder how much of our shallow conversation comes from our own self-consciousness.

What should I say?

Am I interesting enough?

Do they like me?

What story should I tell?

How do I come across?

We’re standing in front of another human being while simultaneously having an entire conversation with ourselves.

It’s hard to truly see someone when we’re busy watching ourselves.

Maybe one of the quietest ways to become more connected is to stop trying so hard to be interesting.

Become interested instead.

What if we walked into a dinner thinking less about what we might contribute and more about what we might discover?

There are entire worlds sitting across from us.

We are all carrying something

By this age, everyone has lived some life.

There have been beginnings and endings.

Marriages. Divorces. Children. Losses. Reinventions. Illnesses. Careers. Regrets. Adventures. Things that didn’t work out. Things we never imagined would.

There are dreams people haven’t told anyone about.

There are things they are still making peace with.

There are versions of themselves they have outgrown.

There are questions they’re quietly asking about what comes next.

And yet we can sit beside someone for two hours and never get beyond what they ordered for dinner.

That’s fascinating to me.

Not because every conversation needs to become profound. That would be exhausting.

But because we have so many opportunities to know one another a little more deeply.

And most of the time, it doesn’t require some grand heart-to-heart.

It requires attention.

Perhaps this is how we make space for connection

Ask one more question.

Leave your phone in your bag.

Look at someone when they’re speaking.

Don’t immediately turn their story into yours.

Remember something they told you the last time you were together—and ask about it.

Allow silence.

Notice when someone’s answer doesn’t quite match their face.

Ask what they’re excited about instead of what they’re busy with.

Ask what they’re learning.

What they’re loving.

What they’re finding difficult.

What they want more of in their life.

And when they tell you—

stay.

Because perhaps the art of conversation isn’t really about knowing what to say.

Perhaps it’s about creating enough space for another person to say what they haven’t had the opportunity to say.

To know and be known

In my last Journal, I asked:

How many people really know you?

I’ve kept thinking about that question.

But maybe it deserves a companion.

How many people are you really trying to know?

Not their résumé.

Not their social media.

Not the collection of facts you’ve accumulated about them over the years.

Them.

I think we all want this more than we admit.

To have someone look beyond the easy answer.

To ask the next question.

To remember.

To be curious.

To listen without trying to fix or compare or hurry us along.

Maybe deeper connection isn’t something we find.

Maybe it’s something we practice.

One question.

One pause.

One conversation at a time.

Tell me more.

Perhaps three of the most generous words we can offer another human being.

 

-Natalie