One of Emily McDowell's beautiful cards. |
A couple of months ago there was a story bouncing around the internet
about a woman who’d created a series of greeting cards to send to someone going
through cancer. What was unique about Emily McDowell's cards was their raw honesty. Instead
of the trite, and frankly unhelpful, standard card messages, they said what
someone suffering a life-altering illness really needed to hear. Stuff like:
“Please let me be the first person to punch the next person who tells you
everything happens for a reason” and “I wish I could take away your pain. Or at
least, take away the people who compare it to the time their hampster died.”
But my personal favourite was this one: “I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. I
didn't know what to say.” I like this because it beautifully captures the helplessness
you feel when someone close to you is suffering, and you know there is nothing
you can say or do to ease their pain.
I was reminded of this recently when I was spending time with a friend
who is healing from a broken heart. Over the course of our conversation she ran
the gamut of emotions from rage to disappointment to shame to grief. I wanted
so badly to offer some advice or some truism that would help her find peace,
even if temporarily, but I had nothing. But that’s not what she needed from me,
anyway. It’s not up to me to fix the situation, my job is to be
there and listen. Empathy is not a verb, it’s a heart space.
Liz Gilbert wrote a beautiful and moving post a few months ago about the
despair she felt after another mass
shooting in the US, and how she attempted
to turn that sadness into hope on a micro scale: “When the world starts to feel
overwhelming in its sorrows, I always ask myself to look around me – to narrow
down my focus – and to notice somebody who is nearby me, who is suffering. I
can’t help the millions, but maybe I can help one. Life is hard; there is
always someone going through great pain. I tell myself: Go sit with that person
today for a while. Don’t try to solve their life, or answer for God [as to why
it has happened], or offer dismissive ‘reasons’, or try fix the whole world.
Just say, ‘I don’t know. But I will sit with you through this.’ Turn your
overflow of sorrow into love.”
When you don’t know what to say or do, it’s tempting to either rush in
with solutions or platitudes, or to just back away completely. Don’t do that.
Lean in. Sit beside them and listen. That’s how you show love. That’s how you
say ‘I hate that you’re suffering and I can’t change that but I will bear
witness to your pain and hold your hand when you need me.’ What people need
when their world is broken is the warmth of human connection. That is the one thing you CAN do.
Just listen. It's all anyone needs you to do
Technology might make it easier for us to forge new
connections as well as maintain relationships with those who are far away, but
it’s also eroding relationships with those who are close to us. In his book Focus,
leading US psychologist Daniel Goleman (whose work is fascinating, BTW) has
written about how technology is killing our attention spans. We are so used to
the barrage of information presented to us that we lose interest when forced to
focus on just one thing, or one person. What that means for relationships is
this: “Being able to focus on the other person rather than the text you just
received has become the new fundamental requirement for having a relationship
with that person,” Daniel says.
The reason I bring this up is not to lament our
increasingly scattered and superficial social interactions – although that is
concerning – but to reflect on a really important facet of relationships that I
feel I am in danger of forgetting how to do: listening.
It does feel, at least to me, that it’s harder than ever to be fully engaged in a conversation with someone else, and the influence of so much competing stimuli is surely part of the problem. (Although to be fair, I’ve always had a short attention span.) To be fully engaged in a conversation means listening – really listening – to the other person, which is as important in our interactions people we know as it is with those we don’t.
It does feel, at least to me, that it’s harder than ever to be fully engaged in a conversation with someone else, and the influence of so much competing stimuli is surely part of the problem. (Although to be fair, I’ve always had a short attention span.) To be fully engaged in a conversation means listening – really listening – to the other person, which is as important in our interactions people we know as it is with those we don’t.
A few weeks ago I was on a bus trip home, writing
in my notebook, when an old man sitting next to me suddenly asked me what I was
focusing on so intently. This started a conversation that lasted the entire
journey home and covered: handwriting styles, the best and worst places in the
world we’d each visited and the history of the
suburbs we were travelling through. I realised how bewildering it must be to
someone of his generation to see everyone staring at their phones or listening
to music – anything but engaging with the people and places around them. Everyone
is trying to be somewhere other than where they are. As I got off the bus he
thanked me for listening and said how much he’d enjoyed our chat (I had too).
This was an important reminder that giving someone
our complete attention, and really taking in what they’re saying, is such a
beautiful and underrated thing to do. Dave Isay, winner of the 2015 TED Prize,
describes listening as an act of generosity and love. StoryCorps is a project
Dave founded where two people who know each other sit in a mobile recording
booth with a facilitator for 40 minutes of conversation. Essentially, they
interview each other – many treating this as a ‘what I would say if this was
our last conversation together’ scenario – and what comes out of that is a new understanding about the other person and a deeper connection to them. A recording of their
conversation is available for a fee to cover costs. Dave is now developing an
app to allow people to have these meaningful conversations at home.
“So much of how we communicate is fleeting and
inconsequential,” says Dave in his TED talk. “I’ve learned about the poetry and
wisdom and grace that can be found in the words of people all around us when we
simply take the time to listen.”
What I’ve been reminded of lately how powerful the simple act
of listening is. All anyone wants is to be heard. To be understood, yes, but
most importantly to be heard. Our ears are as important in meaningful
interactions as our hearts are. By listening to someone – whether it’s a random
man on the bus or your significant other – you are bringing integrity to that
exchange, affirming that that person matters and validating their human
experience. That is the best gift you could give anyone. I hope, that in an age
with so much competing for our attention, I never forget how to do that.