The Lost Art of Listening

People love to talk.

I am guilty of it myself. My partner, Erin, will quickly attest to that.

But I also consider myself a good—no, you know what—I consider myself a great listener.

That raises a question that got me thinking:
Do people today actually like to listen?
Or maybe more accurately—do people even know how to listen anymore?

I think of that Progressive Insurance commercial with the “backup listener.” It begins with one woman in a cafe sitting at a table telling her friend all about her relationship problems. The "listening" friend is all distracted looking at her phone and only, occasionally, giving a glance to the girl talking and giving a nod. Then the friend calls in Teddy Bridgewater – who has made an NFL career out of being a backup quarterback – to substitute for the distracted friend.

Bridgewater leans forward. Makes eye contact. Stays engaged. And when he speaks, it’s brief and precise:

“You’re not a mechanic. It’s not your job to fix him.”

It’s meant to be funny.

But to me, it’s also a quietly brutal commentary on modern life.

The art of listening feels like it’s been lost.

I think it is fair to say that today's society has become very self-centered. It's all about "me, me, me." People love to be the center of attention. Social media has tapped into this human narcissism and desire for attention.

Everyone can broadcast every thought, every opinion, every reaction—instantly, publicly, endlessly.

Again, I am guilty of it as well.

During sporting events, I post constantly. Friends have told me—accurately—that I post too much. I don’t even know what I’m hoping for. Do I think some publication is going to stumble across my timeline and say, “This guy knows what he’s talking about”? Or that an NFL team is going to DM me and offer me a job?

The bottom line is people like to express themselves. They like to talk. They love the sound of their own voice.

More importantly, people like to be heard.

There’s that old philosophical question: If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? I once saw a YouTube video—while researching this article—argue that the tree doesn’t make a sound because “sound,” by definition, requires someone to hear it.

And maybe that’s why I post as much as I do. I want someone to read my thoughts. Not just read them, but feel them. I want someone out there to say, “You just put into words something I’ve been struggling to explain.”

People like to be validated. The more and more I learn about myself, I keep coming back to the word "validate" as the thing I search out the most in life. It is the crux of my existence.

I have come to find out I have always yearned for validation from my father. I always knew I needed validation from my employers, and when I didn't get it, my attitude towards work suffered.

I need validation, constantly, in my relationship with Erin. Every night before I go to bed, I ask her, "Do I make you happy?" 

It is not meant to be "cute" or a joke – I need to hear that validation before I end my day. I need to feel like I accomplished something meaningful and important to me.

In terms of social media, I like to think I don't care how many people view or interact with my posts, but I do check it often. I am not immune. I am human. I also check Google Analytics often to see how many times my blogs get viewed.

It is human nature to want to be heard – to be loved, or to be given the "thumbs up."

But here’s the paradox:
The more we talk, the less open we are to other people's opinions.

When we’re talking, we’re usually repeating things we already believe. We are expressing things you already know – or you think you know. You are just wasting time. You're not gaining anything.

Learning happens almost exclusively in listening. In school, you didn’t learn by talking over the teacher. You learned by paying attention. You had to raise your hand to ask a question.

It is vitally important to ask questions, to test people's beliefs. But good questions are brief. They create space to explore ideas instead of trying to fill in gaps.

Remember: not all conversations have to center on you. Active listening doesn't mean waiting for your turn to speak to spout your views. It means looking for opportunities to seek more information about the other person – to learn, not preach.

And it doesn’t matter whether the person you’re listening to is a Nobel Prize winner or a six-year-old. Everyone knows something you don’t.

Being a good listener can be most rewarding in personal conversations—especially when someone is hurting, emotionally.

Always ask yourself, "What would I want from my friend if I were them?"

People want active listeners – just like in that Progressive commercial.

"Active listening" doesn't mean always interrupting or putting in your two cents at every opportunity. Don't act like you have all the answers. Just be present for them.

Active listening means paying attention - make eye contact, lean in, empathize. It means caring – not pretending to care, but sincere caring. It means putting away phones. It means not staring around the room.

Now this is the hard part – it means not re-directing the conversation and/or trying to make the conversation about you! How many times have you talked to a friend and had a scenario similar to this one?

You just lost an aunt or uncle that you were very close to. You are crying to a friend about your grief when they interrupt you with a flippant comment like, "Yeah, my cat ran away last month and I haven't seen her since."

Or

You went to the doctor and they are worried about some of your blood work levels being high and they want to send you for further testing with a specialist. You talk to your friend about your concerns and they respond, "Yeah, last month I think I twisted my ankle pretty bad stepping off a curb and I never got it checked out. Now I am worried it might be a sprain or something worse."

I've heard this referred to as the "Grief Olympics" where people try to vie for attention based on comparing each other's grief. But grief isn't a competition. Everyone's grief is unique to them. Everyone's grief matters the same.

Not everything in life needs to be a competition. Maybe nothing in life needs to be a competition.

And the truth is – listening is one of the easiest and most generous things we can do. You don’t need the right words. You don’t need solutions. Sometimes all it takes is a nod, or a pause, or a simple “I hear you.”

Because, ultimately, that's all people want is to be heard.