83. The Art of Listening – Esther Perel
And we can also practice listening—to sit with another person’s words, allowing them to speak from the inside out, allowing them to be at the same time inside themselves and with you.
In these trying times, we have been yanked into a completely new way of being. Some of us are feeling lonely, longing to touch someone. Others are trapped inside with the same people 24/7 and crave just a few minutes alone. Many are working harder than ever before. Some of us no longer have a job. Some are sick or recovering. Others have lost loved ones. Some are redoubling their efforts in the longstanding struggle against racism. Some are just joining the fight.
All of these changes can describe even just one person’s reality. We are experiencing, for the first time, the collision of our many roles—worker, partner, caretaker, parent, child, friend, teacher, activist—all in one place.
For many of us, that place is our kitchen table. In such a moment, we need to not only take care of our physical, mental, and emotional health. We must also make concerted changes to our relationships, creating new boundaries and dissolving those that no longer serve us.
There are some very concrete relational tools that can help us do this. We can take inventory of how we’re feeling (anxious? irritable? angry? depressed? fatigued?) and check in with our loved ones as well. We can work to understand that others may process things differently than we do. We can learn to communicate clearly, asking our families and our employers for the things we need. And we can also practice listening—to sit with another person’s words, allowing them to speak from the inside out, allowing them to be at the same time inside themselves and with you.
– Esther Perel
Prompt:
Listening attentively lives at the ebb and flow of the boundary, the together and separate. Write about the last time you felt someone was truly listening to you. What was it like—emotionally, physically, and energetically—to be heard?
Flynn
Location: Stuart, Florida
About: “Raise your words, not your voice.” I love good conversation.
Age: 58
Sometimes I speak, and I am heard. Sometimes I speak, and I am listened to.
Sometimes it is clear that I have been understood.
To have someone's full attention, to be heard and understood. To be agreed with. A wonderful experience, that is. It's a very powerful connection that people share.
I sometimes speak to hundreds of people who aren't listening to me. I'm sure that they hear me--it'd be hard not to hear me. I'm usually talking only in their general direction, trying (and hoping) to be entertaining. But they're all talking, too, usually. Often, I imagine, I'm just a distraction from their conversations. I'm indiscriminately blocked out. That can be a lonely feeling.
It comes with the territory, though. I'm the sideshow. Alcohol and sex are the main attractions, and not necessarily in that order.
Then there's the face to face. The "main course."
Come, sit and talk with me....
If there happens to be someone else in the room, we are only remotely aware of their presence. The other spoken words we hear now are dying like so many weightless ricochets scattering in the room.
I look into your eyes, you look into mine, and the words that we speak are on a direct inject mainline to our souls. We lean in a little, as though we can't hear each other's words quickly enough. They are taken in, comprehended without overthinking, absorbed, digested, and then stored.
Meaningful, deep, warm, conversation. Memorable conversation.
And then, the dessert.
The gaze. The softeness of it. No spoken words, just a comfortable sense of peace that we share with a smile; a sense of peace that says, simply, "I know what you're thinking."
Paola Piccioli
Location: Los Angeles, CA
About: These prompts have been one of the rituals that kept me grounded and loved during this pandemic, and I thank you immensely for giving me an outlet to cry out loud, and a beloved certainty, again, a ritual. The most common inspiration are the people I love. I have been blessed with many of them filling my life with chaos and joy.
Age: 32
Last time I felt somebody was truly listening to me. Was like drinking for the first time after the most depriving thirst. I never knew it could be so easy, so astonishing. I felt held, not just the present me but the eternal me, little me. My body felt warm, caressed, talked to, taken care of. It was as if somebody had whispered words of beauty to every inch of my skin, slowly, taken all the time necessary. I felt as if there was nothing wrong with me: as if effortlessly I had been absolved by years of alleged sin. Stunningly, I found beauty in the ugliness of my secrets, now that they were liberated, and loved.
Ryan Chepita
Location: Ottawa, ON, Canada
About: I am so grateful. Writing in this beautiful community feels like I have unlocked long-dormant treasures within me, or unearthed a treasure chest in the forest. The Isolation Journals have not just helped me to stay afloat in this era; it has helped me to thrive.
Age: 42
Bad listeners consider waiting to speak an inconvenience. Basic listeners respect the pause.
Good listeners probe for detail, making you the moment’s star. Their personal anecdotes offer empathy, not usurpation.
We all deserve this much.
Special listeners, though, find nuances in your words and know they’re not accidentally chosen. They dress up a mental apartment for memories of you, never evicting them.
There’s no guide for how to interact with a special listener. It’s intuitive because you’re part of each other, dancing in conversation without choreography, feeling beyond hearing.
Only in their presence do I feel someone is truly listening.