I can vividly remember a conversation I had with The Mister, even though it was nearly seven years ago when it happened. I remember talking about his new house and the renovations he had in mind for it. I remember talking about baseball, first dates and how I never let a guy buy me drinks. I remember it so clearly because I was so focused on this man, his words, his body language. Despite a crowded room, noisy televisions and conversations all around us, he had my complete and undivided attention that night and many, many days and nights since.
I do not remember well all the things he said, however, when he proposed. I know we talked about his family while we walked through the park that night, but beyond that I don't recall much of anything. It wasn't that he didn't have my attention that night, it was that my attention and energy was on trying to make him feel less nervous, to make the stroll seem more ordinary, to make him feel less vulnerable, to make the moment feel less life-changing than it was. I don't like people to feel uncomfortable and that night, my energy was focused solely on getting to the other side of the proposal, getting to the part where The Mister was his fun, lovable self instead of the nervous, vulnerable man before me. My concern for him was so great, in fact, that I even said, "No!" when he started to get down on one knee, as it was more than my heart could bear to have this man, this amazing, strong man kneeling before me. No isn't what you're supposed to say, however when a man is kneeling in front of you with a gorgeous ring, but my heart was in the right place, I swear.
In both cases, I was listening to the love of my life. He had my heart and soul's attention but in very different ways. I dare say I was a better listener the night he proposed despite not being able to recall any of his rehearsed romantic lines.
The Mister and I have both noticed, more and more as the years go by, how much we enjoy just sitting with family or friends, talking and listening. Our frustrations with social events seem to always be about how it was hard to hear, or difficult to talk with everyone or even how children are dismissed from conversations when we'd love to see them included. I've also noticed and The Mister has endured many many after school conversations about how bad my students are at listening. They are completely unaware that they are interrupting a conversation and they are eager to talk but have no interest in what the other person has to say. It's actually a skill I try to teach, explicitly, in my classroom. A few years ago, I had a student in my classroom with special needs that moved part way through the year. On his last day with my class, we sat in a circle and each student chose to share a compliment about this student as a little send-off. A fellow student said, "He is a great listener. He even looks at you when you are talking!" It was completely and utterly true. But it saddened me that it was so rare that it stood out so much from this one amazing student.
Just a few years ago when I was working on my Master's degree, I was shadowing my principal when I asked her how she dealt with difficult parents, a key component to that position. She said, "Most of the time, I just listen. People just want to be heard. Once they are heard, their anger often subsides and we can work together on a solution, but from the start, I just let them talk and I show them that they have my full attention and concern." I wondered then as I continue to wonder now, could listening be the solution to most of the problems we face?
Maybe that's a pretty large jump to make, but it bears consideration. There's nothing unique in this idea, certainly. I have books dedicated to the topic that I use with my students .A simple Google or Amazon search would reveal thousands more, I'm sure. If, at my next social gathering I asked if people think that listening is a lost art, I'm sure most would emphatically agree. But we continue to move in a direction that puts being understood above understanding. Social media is about putting out into the world all the things I want to express. Not only do we engage in fewer face-to-face conversations anymore (even phone calls were a back and forth proposition but how often now do we text instead of talk?) we now routinely engage in one-sided dialogues about life. What we express is the point, not what people express back. Facebook doesn't have a button that says, "I found your point interesting and I'd really like to discuss it further." Even as I type, I'm aware that I'm writing a blog post, a very one-sided expression of ideas that starts and stops with the ideas from my mind alone.
It seems more and more we are caught up in all the things we are trying to accomplish. It has stopped being about connecting and started being all about what have we done. Just wait until next month when the Christmas cards roll around. Isn't every letter a list of accomplishments? It's not hard for me to recognize that connecting with people is just part of my personality. Given a genie in a bottle, I'd wish for the opportunity to talk with my mom again, or my grandma. There's so much about them that I don't know, that I want to understand as an adult, so much I didn't think to ask before. Even as I write "talk with my mom", the truth is, I'd really just like to sit and listen. For as along as I possibly could. I was so busy talking when she was here, but never listening.
It's worth considering as well, that not everyone cares what other people have to say. The narcissists of the world are not small in number, I fear. Is this trait taught? Is it taught unintentionally? Is it necessary? I could as easily, perhaps make an argument that focusing on ourselves and our needs is important, too. While that might help us solve our own problems and satisfy our own needs, will it solve the world's?
A couple months ago, I was out with a friend for lunch. We talk often, but rarely do we talk deeply about topics outside of our shared profession. Even on this occasion, her comments were superficial at best about other things going on, but I could tell more was on her mind than she was saying. I kept my response on the surface as well, saying only, "It sounds to me like..." but in that one sentence, something unlocked. She knew I had heard what she was really saying and she felt safe enough to start talking about the bigger issue. Later, she wrote me a note and even bought us a small gift in appreciation. Feigned as gratitude for looking after their animals while they were gone, she later confided it was for listening and giving her a voice for her concerns. The problem found a solution shortly after our conversation and her entire demeanor changed. She had been heard. And that was all she needed.
The Mister continues to be my favorite listener. Whether I ramble for an hour (or two) about school, nudge in my not-so-subtle ways about an idea I have, or whether I say nothing at all, he knows what I mean. He gets me. He hears not only the words, but the lack thereof sometimes. He hears not only my tone but my pain, or my joy that I'm trying to disguise. Maybe that's why I married that man who spoke about sports and home remodeling from the bar stool next to mine. Maybe it's because when I said that night that my idea of a perfect first date was a minor league baseball game and he said, "So I have to wait until Spring to ask?" I knew, right then and there, in a crowded bar on a Saturday night, that this man had heard everything I was saying. Right from my heart to his. I wonder, I worry, I pray that I am half the listener he is.
Maybe, just maybe that's as simple and yet as complicated as it gets. We just need to listen.
I do not remember well all the things he said, however, when he proposed. I know we talked about his family while we walked through the park that night, but beyond that I don't recall much of anything. It wasn't that he didn't have my attention that night, it was that my attention and energy was on trying to make him feel less nervous, to make the stroll seem more ordinary, to make him feel less vulnerable, to make the moment feel less life-changing than it was. I don't like people to feel uncomfortable and that night, my energy was focused solely on getting to the other side of the proposal, getting to the part where The Mister was his fun, lovable self instead of the nervous, vulnerable man before me. My concern for him was so great, in fact, that I even said, "No!" when he started to get down on one knee, as it was more than my heart could bear to have this man, this amazing, strong man kneeling before me. No isn't what you're supposed to say, however when a man is kneeling in front of you with a gorgeous ring, but my heart was in the right place, I swear.
In both cases, I was listening to the love of my life. He had my heart and soul's attention but in very different ways. I dare say I was a better listener the night he proposed despite not being able to recall any of his rehearsed romantic lines.
The Mister and I have both noticed, more and more as the years go by, how much we enjoy just sitting with family or friends, talking and listening. Our frustrations with social events seem to always be about how it was hard to hear, or difficult to talk with everyone or even how children are dismissed from conversations when we'd love to see them included. I've also noticed and The Mister has endured many many after school conversations about how bad my students are at listening. They are completely unaware that they are interrupting a conversation and they are eager to talk but have no interest in what the other person has to say. It's actually a skill I try to teach, explicitly, in my classroom. A few years ago, I had a student in my classroom with special needs that moved part way through the year. On his last day with my class, we sat in a circle and each student chose to share a compliment about this student as a little send-off. A fellow student said, "He is a great listener. He even looks at you when you are talking!" It was completely and utterly true. But it saddened me that it was so rare that it stood out so much from this one amazing student.
Just a few years ago when I was working on my Master's degree, I was shadowing my principal when I asked her how she dealt with difficult parents, a key component to that position. She said, "Most of the time, I just listen. People just want to be heard. Once they are heard, their anger often subsides and we can work together on a solution, but from the start, I just let them talk and I show them that they have my full attention and concern." I wondered then as I continue to wonder now, could listening be the solution to most of the problems we face?
Maybe that's a pretty large jump to make, but it bears consideration. There's nothing unique in this idea, certainly. I have books dedicated to the topic that I use with my students .A simple Google or Amazon search would reveal thousands more, I'm sure. If, at my next social gathering I asked if people think that listening is a lost art, I'm sure most would emphatically agree. But we continue to move in a direction that puts being understood above understanding. Social media is about putting out into the world all the things I want to express. Not only do we engage in fewer face-to-face conversations anymore (even phone calls were a back and forth proposition but how often now do we text instead of talk?) we now routinely engage in one-sided dialogues about life. What we express is the point, not what people express back. Facebook doesn't have a button that says, "I found your point interesting and I'd really like to discuss it further." Even as I type, I'm aware that I'm writing a blog post, a very one-sided expression of ideas that starts and stops with the ideas from my mind alone.
It seems more and more we are caught up in all the things we are trying to accomplish. It has stopped being about connecting and started being all about what have we done. Just wait until next month when the Christmas cards roll around. Isn't every letter a list of accomplishments? It's not hard for me to recognize that connecting with people is just part of my personality. Given a genie in a bottle, I'd wish for the opportunity to talk with my mom again, or my grandma. There's so much about them that I don't know, that I want to understand as an adult, so much I didn't think to ask before. Even as I write "talk with my mom", the truth is, I'd really just like to sit and listen. For as along as I possibly could. I was so busy talking when she was here, but never listening.
It's worth considering as well, that not everyone cares what other people have to say. The narcissists of the world are not small in number, I fear. Is this trait taught? Is it taught unintentionally? Is it necessary? I could as easily, perhaps make an argument that focusing on ourselves and our needs is important, too. While that might help us solve our own problems and satisfy our own needs, will it solve the world's?
A couple months ago, I was out with a friend for lunch. We talk often, but rarely do we talk deeply about topics outside of our shared profession. Even on this occasion, her comments were superficial at best about other things going on, but I could tell more was on her mind than she was saying. I kept my response on the surface as well, saying only, "It sounds to me like..." but in that one sentence, something unlocked. She knew I had heard what she was really saying and she felt safe enough to start talking about the bigger issue. Later, she wrote me a note and even bought us a small gift in appreciation. Feigned as gratitude for looking after their animals while they were gone, she later confided it was for listening and giving her a voice for her concerns. The problem found a solution shortly after our conversation and her entire demeanor changed. She had been heard. And that was all she needed.
The Mister continues to be my favorite listener. Whether I ramble for an hour (or two) about school, nudge in my not-so-subtle ways about an idea I have, or whether I say nothing at all, he knows what I mean. He gets me. He hears not only the words, but the lack thereof sometimes. He hears not only my tone but my pain, or my joy that I'm trying to disguise. Maybe that's why I married that man who spoke about sports and home remodeling from the bar stool next to mine. Maybe it's because when I said that night that my idea of a perfect first date was a minor league baseball game and he said, "So I have to wait until Spring to ask?" I knew, right then and there, in a crowded bar on a Saturday night, that this man had heard everything I was saying. Right from my heart to his. I wonder, I worry, I pray that I am half the listener he is.
Maybe, just maybe that's as simple and yet as complicated as it gets. We just need to listen.
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