Listening and Offering Space

Seated at the round wooden table in the noisy restaurant, my friends and I took note of the menu, unchanged from our last visit, and made our selections quickly. The environment around us was typical of any eatery at dinnertime. Servers rushing to tables with giant round trays perched on their shoulders, heavy wafts of salty, deep-fried food drifting through the air, the sound of chatter, laughter and cheer bursting from corners of the large room. As I glanced around the crowded space, I saw smiles, gestures, friendly exchanges amid ringing phones, background music and the clanking of dishes – all of which, unapologetically, filled any trace of quiet.

Such boisterous surroundings can easily derail a sense of connection and intimacy, but on this day, the table that I shared with my friends felt cozy and familiar. In a strange way, it seemed still, even peaceful. To hear each other, and what was being said required tuning in, leaning towards, tilting the ear. I watched how we each made these moves, efforting enough to keep the connection, to stay with whoever was speaking.

I noticed how listening is beautiful.

Giving someone else the space and time to fully think and express that thinking is truly lovely. I’ve known this and have experienced it before, but on this occasion, I noticed it in a brighter way. I became present to the beauty of genuine listening.

Feeling rushed to finish saying what I want to say is a familiar experience for me. Often, other people jump in to finish my sentences or cut me off mid-thought to insert their own (“better”) thought, or interrupt to disagree, move on or usurp the topic. I must regrettably admit my guilt in behaving the same way towards others. It’s a social habit, isn’t it, to rush others through their thinking so that we can have the speaking floor to ourselves.

Whether from uncontained excitement, lack of awareness or simple rudeness, I have been sidelined in professional settings many times, and in friendly social conversations as well. My voice naturally doesn’t project, and so when I start to speak, sometime people can’t hear me, or I get drowned out by louder voices that audibly cast a wider net. Sometimes I practice speaking louder just to be seen, and it still feels uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I naturally prefer being on the quiet side of the scale.

One thing I know about myself is that I tend to wait to be asked for my opinion, to be invited to share my thoughts. This habit hasn’t always served me very well, especially in business where promoting myself and my work feels awkward and embarrassing. I am not the person who boasts easily about accomplishments and successes. In the last few years, I’ve consciously practiced speaking up more (whether verbally or in cultivating an online presence), just to test it out and see what happens when I take up space. I now look for opportunities to say what I think despite the risk that it could alter the way someone sees me. But even with those times of trying, my voice is quieter than many, and my thoughts get interrupted or not fully heard.

When I was with my friends on this evening in the busy restaurant, I paid attention and noticed how we listened to each other. I witnessed how we took time, how we offered space and didn’t rush to fill it. I noticed how we allowed for the full expression of the other without crowding, monopolizing, invalidating, or rescuing. It was a demonstration of listening generously and respectfully.

I watched how my friend’s face looked as she searched inside herself for the words that would convey her thoughts most accurately. Given space and time, her face was soft, and her eyes were focusing lightly on her hands, not fiercely like in a search and rescue, but like gently sifting and sorting. She knew she could take her time. She wouldn’t be hurried. She would be allowed, even encouraged, to meander until just the right words emerged. And they did. And we were all made better.

I felt a warmth emanating from each of us as we listened to each other, taking turns sharing and connecting as the kindreds we are. All I did was notice, and the beauty and generosity of friendship was revealed. It was worth my noticing because I want to take that with me. I want to give it away and make it available to as many people as I can.

When we interrupt, I’ve read, it’s registered somatically, in the body, as an attack. The nervous system reacts to the interruption, however mildly, by bracing itself from the assault. Interrupting then, is a small, tiny little act of violence. Listening is a big, huge act of love. That’s enough to have me want to practice better, deeper, more generous listening wherever I go.

Listening is love made visible. Love is beautiful.

I am grateful for that rich lesson. Listening is a powerful and manageable way to amplify my experience of beauty, and it is a gift available for me to give countless times each day.

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