The Lost Art of Listening: Confessions from an imperfect family

We are a family of many passions. A family of strongly held opinions, of arguments well-honed in the shower, of confidence that we can transmit our brilliance to the minds of the rest of the family, filled with a certainty that the rest of the family is eager to absorb our wisdom.

Thus, we talk over each other. And during the rare moments we are silent when someone else is speaking, we are not really listening, we are preparing our next brilliant verbalization. We aren’t listening to each other. Not really listening, which is to ‘give one’s attention to a sound.’ We are not doing that, unless you count the way we listen to our own monologues.

Dinner time at our house might as well be the tower of Babel, a cacophony of voices. All transmitting and no receiving, each with our own special style of not listening.

I am The Expert. I read a lot. I think a lot about what I’ve read. I deep dive on topics and thus feel like I am the one who should pontificate. I am bewildered that the family is not hanging on my every well-informed word.

Husband is The Agitator, or as we often call him, the ‘Dadgitator.’ A lifetime spent in locker rooms has turned him into someone always ready with the tease, with the barb, the jab. It is highly entertaining for him and he assumes, despite many assurances to the contrary, that it is as entertaining for me.

Son is The Provocateur. He leans into the shocking, the opposite of whatever he thinks I believe, never missing the chance to get a rise out of me. He laughingly admits he doesn’t even believe a lot of what he says, but he gets me every time.

Daughter is The Reformed, having escaped to college and experienced civil discourse with other people, amazed to discover people might actually listen and then respond to what you said. She is trying to help us mend our ways.

All of us think our way is right, and secretly (or not so secretly) deride the others for their communication style.

Occasionally I pull out my credentials, I taught people how to communicate for a living! Listen to me, I got paid to do this!

This tends to backfire because I only do this when I am in defensive mode, at which point I am no longer following my own good advice. They fight to be the first to point that out. It becomes a source of embarrassment for me and extended humor for Husband and Son.

As is the case with so many other things in my life, I find relief at the ocean. Sounds that won’t agitate, sounds that will soothe. The wind and the waves and the birds. They are just there, just being water, being air, being animals. The birds screech over each other too, but they aren’t trying to convince me of anything. They aren’t mad at me or entertained by me or questioning me. They don’t even notice me. I’m not trying to convince them of anything either. We all just exist together.

The wind and the waves eventually scrub my brain clean.

The emotion fades. The arguments seem silly. The vastness of the ocean brings a calmer mind.

I start to remember the endearing things about my people. The funny things. The kind things. The loving things. Their strengths and lovable quirks. The myriad reasons I love them.

How do we know we are loved? When we feel someone’s eyes really on us. When someone pays attention to us. I’m reminded of a phrase I read years ago, that ‘attention is the magic elixir.’ Attention is the magic elixir that grows love.

And isn’t attention the heart of listening?

And don’t I want my people to feel my love?

More than anything.

From this peaceful remove of the ocean, I decide to be the bigger person, to put aside my perfectly crafted arguments and just listen. Respond to what they say, not just scan for a place to insert my thoughts.

Our brains aren’t always prepared for such a massive shift so I put some parameters on it.

I will do it for short periods of time. Like, try five minutes (which turns out to be TOO LONG). Back it down to three minutes.

I will make a note of the argument I am so compelled to share so I won’t forget it and put it aside. Always a chance later if it is truly worthy. Good arguments don’t evaporate.

I will breathe. Deep breathing, the type that uses the diaphragm, that activates the parasympathetic nervous system so that the agitating and provocations aren’t coded in my body as running from the tiger.

 And one last reminder for these moments, a mantra if you will: I can be right or I can be loving. I don’t actually get to see the members of my family for long periods in the day (one works insane hours, one is at school in another state, one is a teenaged boy, so, you know). I’d rather be loving, if I have to choose.

When it comes right down to it, we all just want to be known and loved.

And I’m going to do my best to use the magic elixir of attention to give that to my people. That’s all I really want for them, to feel known and loved.

I’ll just have to take my wondrous, exhaustive, comprehensive wisdom into my next life. Maybe someone will find a use for it there.

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