I thought I listened. I kept my mouth shut,
my ears tuned, my thoughts
quietly circling the same spot,
making sure nothing was ignored,
but it happened anyway.
In between a pause, after a comma
or the recounting of the sale that
ended the day before she went;
the point of the conversation,
that bit of pain that was wending
its way through her system, ready
at last, to be yanked out to
bring her a little relief – well,
I looked away and missed it.
Talking is easy.
We get lulled into believing that all we have to do is keep the mouth moving and the words coming out and everything will work out.
That in the end, and there is always an end to how long we can keep talking, something will disappear. Some worry or pain will grow weary of just waiting to be understood and will simply go away.
We’ve watched people “talking” on TV for years and have gotten the idea that there should be some kind of dramatic pause when a question is asked but not answered.
That it’s a good thing to stand there looking bored or feeling, oh my God, didn’t we just talk about this last week so that the other party would eventually go quiet and hopefully walk out of the room.
But that only works well on soap operas and Reality TV, where reality gets manipulated, like a slinky. Stretching things out for days and days until characters begin to weep and antagonists, well antagonize everyone in the room, until the episode ends and we all return to weeding the garden.
“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place”.
George Bernard Shaw
Years ago, during the flower of my youth, I engaged in deep philosophical discussions while under the influence, only to discover that all those great ideas jotted down on the back of an empty package of M&Ms made no sense whatsoever.
And that the people I engaged with; those meaningful but brief moments spent with loved ones from my past were only projections from my subconscious. They were never there. They never listened intently.
They never got close and put an arm on my shoulder (that was my friend Richie, reaching over for the bag of Doritos). They never said they missed me though some of them probably did.
What took place was something other than communication.
And when we all sobered up. When we gathered around the corner on Sunday morning, waiting for a lift to the ballfield. The few of us who remembered anything about the night before looked at one another and laughed.
Because when the great revelations were brought forth. When the three hours spent listening to Black Sabbath were distilled down into a few keywords and phrases, all we could remember were concepts like, Time is annoying and life, is like a bowl full of lemons (yeah, that’s all we remembered.)
We thought we had dug deep and came up with a gem. In reality it was an old Pepsi bottle cap from 1952.
Some people are great listeners. They have the ability to sit there and not get in the way of person’s journey to the center of their pain. They listen until it emerges fully formed. Weakened from its constant battles and ready to surrender.
My wife is one of them. And try as I might, sometimes I spend too much time in turn, thinking about how to listen instead of just doing it. Putting my attention on the words she is telling me; turning them over one by one to make sure I understand each one and then when I think I’ve got it. That I really understand what she’s saying – I find that I’ve missed it.
The point, the small bit of grief that was stuck somewhere inside having a struggle getting out, had finally made its way to the surface, and just as it extended its hand to me to be lifted out – my mind went off on a tangent and the moment passed.
Talking is great. Talking gets us through the grocery store checkout, the long line at Starbucks, the short line at the doctor’s office waiting for test results. It gets our kids engaged, our cats entertained and our boss off out backs but in reality, it’s only words.
It’s a good beginning but without the intention to get an idea from here to there; without the desire to be understood and appreciated. Without the need for precision of thought, it’s little more than five guys sitting in a smoke-filled basement, smoking weed, sipping coke and listening to Jethro Tull’s Aqualung over an over again until it makes sense.
According to some group of scientists sitting in a lab somewhere thinking and talking, the average person says about 150 words per minute or about 21,000 words per day.
Taking into account the 8 billion people on the planet each saying something pretty much all the time, that would amount to about 173 trillion words each day.
Now, how much of that was used to request a coffee, a slice of pie, two apples, the fastest way to Marrakesh or Do you know what the laundry basket is for?
And how many people felt understood, appreciated, and acknowledged for all the hard work, extra effort, kindness offered and love expressed?
And how many walked out of the room feeling just a little less than when they walked into it?
Talking is cool. It’s a great beginning. Communication on the other hand is the destination. The best pizza place on the other side of town. Grandma’s house on Christmas. That feeling of relief when the pain finally goes away.
And like everything worthwhile, we’ll know it when you see it. All we need to do is pay attention.