The Lost Art of Listening (14 page)

Doreen asked her father out to lunch so the two of them would have

a chance to talk a little more personally than they did when her mother

78
THE REAL REASONS PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN

was around. But when they sat down at the restaurant, he started in on

his usual diatribe against the bureaucracy. His bosses were “morons,” and

none of his coworkers cared about anything but “putting in their time

until retirement.”

Doreen had heard it all before. She nodded and looked interested and

thought about her upcoming sales conference. Once or twice she started to

interrupt, but something about the way her father spoke with more feeling

than usual made her heart move. She stopped thinking about the sales con-

ference and started listening to what he was saying. As she did, she began

to hear the hurt and disappointment underneath his carping. Suddenly she

was filled with sadness at her father’s isolation. His unhappiness had less

to do with his frustrations at work than that his constant complaining had

made other people in the family stop listening to him. Doreen’s annoyance

gave way to a powerful feeling of sympathy and connection with her father.

For the first time, she understood how lonely he was. Later, when she said

so, her father’s eyes filled with tears and he thanked her for listening.

Sometimes we’re so touched by what people say that listening just

happens. When your child bursts into the house and says “Guess what

happened!” you don’t have to work at listening.

My son was sick and stayed home yesterday, and when I called at

lunchtime to ask him how he was feeling, I didn’t have to make any effort

to suspend my interests to tune in to his. Nor would anyone else have

had to in my place. I was interested in his feelings, I intended to listen to

him, and I did. We all do this dozens of times each day, at least for a few

minutes.

Often, however, it’s not that easy. Much of the time listening takes

work.

When I came home after work, my son was lying on the couch watch-

ing TV. Again I asked how he was feeling, but this time it wasn’t quite as

easy for me to listen. As usual, he wasn’t wearing a shirt or socks, and I had

to suppress the urge to nag him about that. He was watching two brainless

cartoon teenagers rating videos in which everything was either “cool” or

“it sucks,” and I had to make an effort to ignore that. I had things on my

mind that I wanted to talk about, and I wanted to read the mail before it

was time for dinner. None of these considerations was terribly pressing or

unusual. It took only a little effort to suppress them long enough to listen

to my son for a little while. Had he needed to talk for more than a few min-

The Heart of Listening
79

utes, however, I would have had to make a more active effort to suspend

these other agendas—or I would not have been able to listen.

Of course suspending your needs in order to listen means more than

just allowing the other person time to talk. It doesn’t mean just letting a

certain amount of time elapse while that person has his say, only to leap in

with your own agenda when he’s finished.

We’re not fooled by the feigned attentiveness of the restless narcissist,

who may allow us a few minutes of airtime but is only waiting to take over

the stage. On the other hand, when we open up to someone we expect to

be interested and that person listens for a moment but then changes the

subject to himself, we feel betrayed. It’s like a slap in the face; we feel as

though he didn’t care about what we said.

Elena was worried about going back to get her master’s degree after

being out of school for six years. She’d been wanting to do this for a long

time, and her friend David, who already had his degree, had encouraged

her warmly. When she told him that she was concerned about doing the

work, David was so enthusiastic about her finally having taken the big

step that he jumped in to say how great it was that she was doing this for

herself and that she’d gotten into such a good program. Elena got quiet and

changed the subject. David’s encouragement hadn’t been very encourag-

ing. Elena was trying to tell him that she was worried, and his saying how

great it all was made her feel misunderstood. Ironically, David’s expression

of confidence in Elena felt like pressure, one more thing to live up to.

Like David, most people think they’re better listeners than they really

are. At best they allow the other person to state his case, and then they make

their own interpretation of what the other person said. At worst they’re pre-

paring their own argument while the other person is still talking.

David thought he was listening but wasn’t able to suspend his need to

have Elena not worry or for himself to be seen as supportive long enough

to hear her out. A lot of us have difficulty listening when it means having

to sit still and share someone’s uneasiness or uncertainty. We have to say

something to make the anxiety go away.

To listen well, you have to read the needs of the speaker and respond

to the context.

For example, when parents ask, “What did you do in school today?”

children often say, “Nothing.” What follows is an exchange of questions

80
THE REAL REASONS PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN

and monosyllabic answers. The parent wants to hear what happened in

school but doesn’t listen to what the child is saying. The child is saying

something like “Nothing interesting enough for me to want to talk about

right now. I just want to be left alone.”

A child at school is exposed all day. Other kids look at you and pass

judgment on what you’re wearing, who you’re with, what you say, how your

hair is fixed, and just about anything you might do. Teachers watch to see

if you did your homework and if you’re paying attention and to make sure

you’re not making noise in the halls or generally having any fun. After being

the subject of such scrutiny all day, most kids want nothing more than to be

left alone. Their “nothing” isn’t coy or withholding; it’s self- protective.

The parents’ side of this conversation isn’t hard to understand either.

They’re curious about what goes on in their children’s lives. They want to

know if everything is okay. They want to know if their children are doing

what they should be doing. They don’t want to be shut out.

Sometimes kids say “nothing” but really do have something to say.

Maybe you have to show them that you’re really interested to convince

them to open up. Asking them about their day and really being prepared

to listen shows interest. Honoring their right to respond the way they want

shows respect as well as interest— interest in them and respect for their

feelings. Children who sense that their parents are interested in hearing

what they have to say—as opposed to interrogating or prying—will open

up when they’re ready.

“What’s Up?”

Questions that show awareness of the other person’s interests and con-

cerns may help reticent people open up.

Effective Questions

Ineffective Questions*

How are you coming with that

How’s everything?

project you’ve been working on?

What’s been happening with your

How was your day?

headaches lately?

How is your son doing in soccer?

What’s new?

*Note that most ineffective conversational gambits can be answered with yes, no, or nothing.

The Heart of Listening
81

If it’s difficult to suspend the self with our children, imagine how much

more difficult it is with another adult, whom we don’t expect to have to

indulge in any way— especially when we have our own problems.

Sometimes we fall into the habit of listening without effort because

we put so much effort into other things. When we work until we’re spent,

we become preoccupied with our own worries and careless of concern for

others. It’s especially hard to listen when you feel that
you
haven’t gotten

the attention you need. Here’s an example:

A woman who’s having a bad day at the office wishes she could be at

home with her five-year-old. She’s envious of her college professor husband

who, because it’s summer, is at home all day with the boy. When she gets

home, instead of complaining about her day, she asks how her husband’s day

went. He complains about the burden of having to amuse a five-year-old

and the difficulty of figuring out what to do with all the unstructured time.

She listens impatiently for a minute or two and then says, “Why are you

complaining? You’re lucky to have all this time off. Think of all the things

you could do!” Her husband is hurt—first she asks him how his day went,

then she criticizes him for telling her—and the woman herself is resentful.

The woman in this example wasn’t able to listen to her husband because

she wasn’t able to suspend her own feelings long enough to be receptive to

his. After talking about this episode, the woman concluded that she needed

to try harder to overcome or contain the stress of her work. (Perhaps it

would be more reasonable for her to realize that when she comes home after

a bad day she may need to talk about it before she’s ready to listen.)

A good listener may need to set aside his or her own needs

to tune in to the other person’s, but completely selfless

people don’t make good listeners. You have to get listened

to yourself to free you up to be receptive.

“But I
Am
Listening!”

The selflessness of genuine listening is hard to sustain, and so in a number

of ways we fool ourselves into thinking we’re listening when in fact we

aren’t.

82
THE REAL REASONS PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN

“That Reminds Me of the Time . . . ”

(Translation: “I can top that.”)

When friends sit around having a casual conversation, they’ll get on a par-

ticular subject and take turns telling their own stories. Carol will describe

how her dachshund won’t do his business outside in the winter because

the minute he feels the icy snow on his paws he clickety- clicks back to the

door and whines to be let in. Then Murray will tell about the time his Rus-

sian wolfhound lay at death’s door for two days, until they found a small

burr in his long silky fur, and when they removed it, Sasha suddenly made

a miraculous recovery. Then I’ll tell something fascinating (to me, at least)

about my cat Ralphie’s latest adventure.

In this kind of friendly exchange it’s okay just to take turns. The per-

son telling a casual anecdote doesn’t need an elaborate response. However,

there are times when someone has something important to say and doesn’t

want to hear your story until she’s had a chance to finish hers—and get

some acknowledgment. She needs a little time and attention. The woman

who’s just had her car towed away doesn’t want to be interrupted to hear

about the time that happened to you three years ago.

Interrupting someone to tell a similar story is a common example

of how listeners don’t restrain themselves. Sometimes this is annoyingly

obvious, as when people draw attention to themselves by cutting in to

say, “That reminds me of the time . . . ” Most of us don’t do that when it’s

obvious that someone really needs to talk. If someone needs to talk, we lis-

ten. At times, however, the speaker’s need for attention isn’t obvious, and

instead of devoting ourselves to receptive listening, we respond from our

own needs. A friend starts to tell us about an accident and, in an attempt

to show empathy, we interrupt to tell her about ours—which, after all, was

more upsetting to us, even though it happened six months ago.

“Me Too.”

“I hardly slept at all last night.”

“Me, too! I was up and down all night.”

When people tell stories, it’s natural to be reminded of your own

experience. Who do you know who frequently says “me too” when you’re

The Heart of Listening
83

telling a story? When and how might such a response come across as

empathy for you and make you feel understood? When does it feel like the

spotlight has shifted away from you and onto the other person?

Why do people do that? Why do we interrupt to tell our own stories?

Most conversation is interactive. We’re engaged, and much of what people

say to us triggers something in our own experience. If I tell you something

annoying that my father does, you’re likely to think of something annoy-

ing your father does.1 Or if I tell you about the time I fell in love for the

first time, you’re likely to remember your first love. Sharing these stories

may feel like an effort to establish common ground. But listening to people

means hearing them out—giving them sufficient time to say what’s on

their mind and taking sufficient interest to follow and acknowledge their

experience.

“Oh, How Awful!” (Translation: “You poor, helpless thing.

What are we going to do?”)