The Lost Art of Listening (3 page)

When they went to graduate schools in different cities, they kept up

their friendship. Roger would visit Derek, or Derek would visit Roger, at

least once a month. They’d play pool or see a movie and go out for Chi-

nese food; and then afterward, no matter how late it got, they’d stay up

talking.

Then Derek got married, and things changed. Derek didn’t become

distant the way some friends do after one marries, nor did Derek’s wife dis-

like Roger. The distance that Roger felt was a small thing, but it made a

big difference.

“It’s difficult to describe exactly, but I often end up feeling awkward

and disappointed when I speak with Derek. He listens, but somehow he

doesn’t seem really interested anymore. He doesn’t ask questions. He used

to be involved rather than just accepting. It makes me sad. I still feel

excited about the things going on in my life, but telling Derek just makes

me feel unconnected and alone with them.”

Roger’s lament says something important about listening. It isn’t just

not being interrupted that we want. Sometimes people appear to be listen-

Why Listening Is So Important
13

ing but aren’t really hearing. Some people are good at being silent when

we talk. Sometimes they betray their lack of interest by glancing around

and shifting their weight back and forth. At other times, however, listen-

ers show no sign of inattention, but still we know they aren’t really hearing

what we have to say. It feels like they don’t care.

Derek’s passive interest was especially painful to Roger because of

the closeness they’d shared. The friends had reached an impasse; Roger

couldn’t open himself to his friend the way he’d done in the past, and

Derek was mystified by the distance that had grown between them.

Friendship is voluntary, and so talking about it is optional. Roger

didn’t want to complain to Derek or make demands. Besides, how does

one friend tell another that he feels no longer cared about? And so Roger

never did talk to Derek about feeling estranged. Too bad, because when a

relationship goes sour, talking about it may be the only way to make things

right again.

It’s especially hurtful not to be listened to in those

relationships we count on for understanding.

After a while most of us learn to do a pretty good imitation of being

grownups and shrug off a lot of slights and misunderstandings. If, in the

process, we become a little calloused, well maybe that’s the price we pay for

getting along in the world. But sometimes not being responded to leaves

us feeling so hurt and angry that it can make us retreat from relationships,

even for years.

When a woman discovered that her husband was having an affair,

she felt as if someone had kicked her in the gut. In her grief and anger, she

turned to the person she was closest to—her mother-in-law. The mother-

in-law tried to be understanding and supportive, but it was, after all, dif-

ficult to listen to the bitter things her daughter-in-law was saying about her

son. Still, she tried. Apparently, however, the support she offered wasn’t

enough. Eventually the crisis passed and the couple reconciled, but the

daughter-in-law, feeling that her mother-in-law hadn’t been there when

she needed her most, never spoke to her again.

The mother-in-law in this sad story was baffled by her daughter-in-

14
THE YEARNING TO BE UNDERSTOOD

law’s stubborn silence. Other people’s reactions often seem unreasonable

to us. What makes their reactions reasonable to them is feeling wounded

by a lack of responsiveness.

To listen is to pay attention, take an interest, care about, take to heart,

validate, acknowledge, be moved . . . appreciate. Listening is so central to

human existence as to often escape notice; or, rather, it appears in so many

guises that it’s seldom recognized as the overarching need that it is. Some-

times, as Roger, the estranged daughter-in-law, and so many others have

discovered, we don’t realize how important being listened to is until we

feel cheated out of it.

Once in a while, however, we become aware of how much it means to

be listened to. You can’t decide whether or not to take a new job, and so

you call an old friend to talk it over. She doesn’t tell you what to do, but

the fact that she listens, really listens, helps you see things more clearly.

Another time you’re just getting to know someone but you like him so

much that, after a wonderful dinner in a restaurant, you take a risk and ask

him over for coffee. When he says, “No thanks, I’ve got to get up early,”

you feel rejected. Convinced that he doesn’t like you, you start avoiding

him. After a few days, however, he asks you what’s wrong, and once again

you take a risk and tell him that your feelings were hurt. To your great

relief, instead of arguing, he listens and accepts what you have to say. “I

can see how you might have felt that way, but actually I would like to see

you again.”

Why can’t it always be that way? I speak, you listen. It’s that simple,

isn’t it? Unfortunately, it isn’t. Talking and listening creates a unique rela-

tionship in which speaker and listener are constantly switching roles, both

jockeying for position, each one’s needs competing with the other’s. If you

doubt it, try telling someone about a problem you’re having and see how

long it takes before he interrupts to describe a similar experience of his

own or to offer advice—advice that may suit him more than it does you.

A man in therapy was exploring his relationship with his distant father

when he suddenly remembered the happy times they’d spent together play-

ing with his electric trains. It was a Lionel set that had been his father’s

and grandfather’s before him. Caught up in the memory, the man grew

increasingly excited as he recalled the pride he’d felt in sharing this family

Why Listening Is So Important
15

tradition with his father. As the man’s enthusiasm mounted, the therapist

launched into a long narrative about
his
train set and how he had gotten

the other kids in the neighborhood to bring over their tracks and train

cars to build a huge neighborhood setup in his basement. After the thera-

pist had gone on at some length, the patient could no longer contain his

anger about being cut off. “Why are you telling me about
your
trains?!”

he demanded. The therapist hesitated; then, with that level, impersonal

voice we reserve for confiding something intimate, he said lamely, “I was

just trying to be friendly.”

It takes two people to share a feeling—one to talk

and one to listen.

The therapist had made an all-too- common mistake (actually he’d

made several, but this is Be Kind to Therapists Week). He assumed that

sharing his own experience was the equivalent of empathy. In fact, though,

he switched the focus to himself, making his patient feel discounted, mis-

understood, unappreciated. That’s what hurt.

As is often the way with words that become familiar,
empathy
may

not adequately convey the power of appreciating the inner experience of

another person. Empathic listening is like the close reading of a poem; it

takes in the words and gets to what’s behind them. The difference is that

while empathy is actively imaginative, it is fundamentally receptive rather

than creative. When we attend to a work of art, our idiosyncratic response

has its own validity, but when we attend to someone who’s trying to tell us

something, it’s understanding, not creativity, that counts.

Bearing Witness

Listening has not one but two purposes: taking in information and bear-

ing witness to another’s experience. By momentarily stepping out of his

or her own frame of reference and into ours, the person who really listens

acknowledges and affirms us. That validation is essential for sustaining the

confirmation known as self- respect. Without being listened to, we are shut

up in the solitude of our own hearts.

16
THE YEARNING TO BE UNDERSTOOD

A thirty-six-year-old woman was so unnerved by a minor incident that

she wondered if she needed psychotherapy. Marnie, who was executive

vice- president of a public policy institute, had arranged a meeting with the

lieutenant governor to present a proposal she’d developed involving the

regulation of a large state industry. Of necessity she’d invited her boss to

the meeting, although she would have been able to make a more effective

presentation without him. The boss, in turn, had invited the institute’s

chief lobbyist, who would later have to convince legislators of the need

for the proposed regulation. The meeting began, as Marnie expected, with

her boss rambling on in a loose philosophical discussion that circled but

never quite got to the point. When he finished, he turned not to Marnie

but to the lobbyist to present the proposal. Marnie was stunned. The lob-

byist began to speak, and fifteen minutes later the meeting ended without

Marnie’s ever having gotten to say a word—about
her
proposal.

Marnie couldn’t wait to tell her husband what had happened. Unfor-

tunately he was in Europe and wouldn’t be back for three days. She was

used to her husband’s business trips; what she wasn’t used to was how cut

off she felt. She really needed to talk to him. As the evening wore on, Mar-

nie’s disappointment grew and then changed character. Instead of simply

feeling frustrated, she began to feel inadequate. Why was she so dependent

on her husband? Why couldn’t she handle her own emotions?

Marnie decided that her problem was insecurity. If she were more

secure, she wouldn’t need anyone so much. She wouldn’t be so vulnerable;

she’d be self- sufficient.

Marnie’s complaint—the unexpected urgency to be heard—and

her conclusion, that if she’d developed more self- esteem growing up, she

wouldn’t need to depend so much on other people’s responsiveness, is a

common one. Needing someone to respond to us tempts us to believe that

if we were stronger we wouldn’t need other people so much. That way they

wouldn’t be able to disappoint us so much.

Being listened to does help us grow up feeling secure; but, contrary to

what some people would like to believe, we never become whole and com-

plete, finished products, like a statue or a monument. On the contrary, like

any living thing, human beings require nourishment not only to grow up

strong but also to maintain their strength and vitality. Listening nourishes

our sense of worth.

Why Listening Is So Important
17

The more insecure we are, the more reassurance we need. But all of

us, no matter how secure and well adjusted, need attention to sustain us.

In case this isn’t immediately evident, all you need to do is note how we

all have our own preferred ways of announcing our news. If my wife has

news, for example, she’s likely to call me at work or tell me as soon as she

gets home. If she has something to say, she says it. Not me. If I have good

news, I hoard it, save it up to announce with a fanfare—dying to be made

a fuss over.

I once worked for months trying to land a book contract. My wife

knew I was working on the book, but I didn’t let her know that a contract

was imminent. Waiting and hoping, and trying not to let myself hope for

too much, I had extravagant fantasies about getting good news—no, about

sharing it. Telling my wife would be the payoff. What I didn’t want to do

was simply tell her; I wanted—I needed—my announcement to be a big

deal. The day the contract finally arrived I was ecstatic. But the best part

was looking forward to telling my wife. So I called her at work and told her

I had a surprise for her: I was taking her out for a fancy dinner. She said fine

and didn’t ask any questions. (She’s only known me for thirty years.)

By the time I got home, my wife had changed into a silk dress and

was ready to go out. She could tell I was excited, but she waited patiently

to find out why. At the restaurant, I ordered a bottle of champagne, and

when it came she asked, still patient, “Do you have something to tell me?”

I pulled out my contract and presented it with all the savoir faire of a ten-

year-old showing off his report card. She saw what it was and her face lit

up with a huge grin. That look—her love and pride—was indescribably

sweet. My own smile was wet with tears.

What elaborate lengths we go to for such moments! Those of us who

feel the need to arrange special occasions for our announcements share a

good deal with those who don’t need to calculate so. The period of time

during which we’re waiting to tell our news is charged with anxious antici-

pation. We can feel the tension building. The tension has to do with an

aroused impulse—to confess or confront or show off or propose—to make

an impact on another person and be responded to. The excitement comes

from hope for a positive response; the anxiety comes from fear of rejection