October 5th 2014 - Listening is the closest distance between two people

I grew up with talkers.  So I became a talker.  Listening took sidecar to the voice of one’s own speak in our house.  It isn’t a conversation by the way it’s a dictatorship.  It isn’t intended to intentionally disrespect someone.  I think it’s an honest ignorance.  There are times when a person really needs to speak out loud to get to the heart of a problem or a theory.  

I spent most of my youth attracted to friends that were good listeners to accommodate my non-stop mouth.  When I drink, watch out world.  A room full of people could put mirrors up or cardboard cutouts of themselves and I’d be fine speaking all night long listening to my own voice.

I remember one summer I went to my cabin in the North Woods of Minnesota.  I went alone to spend time with my Grandma - Nana.  As I write this, it reminds me of Little Red Riding Hood.  Nana is a reader, not much of a talker or a listener.  She sits in her chair for hours and hours and reads, happy as a clam in a sandy spring sung lake.

During the days of my trip we would read together and we talked (sometimes).  But one day at breakfast, I was particularly interested in hearing myself talk and she turned to me with a look like I had stolen her memories, “Pete, my boy, you must learn patience!”  the wolf had arrived.

That was it.  No after story, no retraction, no explanation - only a bark and then silence.  I was offended and had hurt feelings.  I went back to my book and my wounded pouting ego cried.  Later that day something clicked for me.  I hadn’t ever been taught patience.  I didn’t really know how to wait and listen.  How to take turns, share space, and listen.  I imagined what it would be like to be patient.  For the remaining stay I practiced and after the trip was over and I reentered the home of talkers I started listening more intently.  It became obvious that these people didn’t know what they were doing, when they were doing, what they were doing.

I spent hours listening and waiting and holding space.  I counted all the times that my family told me something I’d already learned, studied, figured out for myself.  But because I sat and listened, they assumed I didn’t know anything about it.  How would they know?  They were too busy talking and never really asked questions they didn’t already know the answers too.  I suppose in hindsight that’s frustrating to think about.  But whose job is it?  Who takes accountability?  I can’t change them right?  Although, my Nana changed me…

During my sophomore year of college I visited my brother in Boston.  He picked me up from the airport and we took the subway in and along Comm Ave.  He attended Boston University and I loved being there with him in his world.  His friends were brilliant and they were doing things that seemed amazing to me.

Chris had many roommates and people he’d collected through his adventures in Boston.  Instead of telling me about each, he wanted for me to make my own judgements.  He also wanted me to listen.  It was right then and there he said to me, “Pete, you don’t listen.”  He was right, I hadn’t.  When he bluntly laid it out to me it was like I was dipped in holy water for the second time.  I wasn’t defensive, nor hurt, but rather took it for face value and told him thanks.

That was the second time I’d gotten the gift of an authentic and respectful decree.  So thank you again brother and Nana.  As I sit here and write this I realize that listening, after growing up as a talker is very rewarding.  I have been privileged with both experiences, the rewarding and the fracturing.

I hope one day my kids read this and choose listening.  It takes an effort.  That is what separates listeners from other people, they choose to behave in a certain way.  There is an old Chinese Proverb - 

“Laughter is the closest distance between two people.”

I’d like to argue that “listening from your heart” may be the closest distance between two people (or maybe a close second at least).