LIFE WITH A CAPITAL 'L' Chapter Two LISTENING, section THREE
SELF-CHECK
Why is it so hard to listen to others? What is it we are doing while others speak? We are talking to ourselves, practicing signals. I call it, “self-checking.” Self-checking is a preoccupation by which we assure ourselves that we are who we thought we were when we last checked. Children are great at it, till they grow aware of observers. Their open fascination with reflected images of themselves delights us all. Adults are nothing short of comedic in their discreet attempts of self-checking.
Ever notice someone walking by a large expanse of glass? First comes a posturing, appearing to observe something through the glass. We self-checkers feign great disinterest, but by our contorted efforts to case our own reflection, we resemble an Egyptian art figure, body presenting itself fully to the outside but face in profile. Adults do not blatantly stare. We self-check in nanosecond glances, artistically.
What is that great assurance that sweeps over us in self-check? “Yep, I’m okay.” We long for it, even if it results in a negative reassurance. “Yep, it is as bad as I thought, the run is still in my stocking” or “I’m still short.”
We live our whole lives with ourselves yet never seem adequately acquainted. It is as if each morning we rise, look in the mirror and say, “Oh yes, there I am.I am real. I am who I thought I was. I am glad to see me again.” Self-check is a strong, natural, and constant urge, but if it is not subdued in the company of others, it subverts authentic human connection.
Not only do we visually self-check; we also self-think. In fact, it has been suggested that about 90 percent of all thought is self-thought. Without discipline, this is what it does to us. While others speak, our mind works to decide whether we agree, what we would have done in their situation, especially how this information will affect us, how we feel about it, and how we feel they should feel. Most detrimentally, while they speak we plan our reply. We move from the catcher’s box up to the mound and practice signals during a strike-zone pitch. We arehearing them, but we are listening to ourselves. Not so noble. People wanting to connect authentically with others must control the annoying habits of self-think, self-check. How wonderful, really, to take a break; to escape that 90 percent preoccupation. But how? By playing a game.
Tetherball Method of Listening
It helps me considerably to picture all informal conversation as a tetherball game. Normally, a tetherball is attached by a rope to a central pole. When I was a kid, players squared off and socked that ball back and forth. Pace and strategy can change, but the same ball is played. Picture such a pole as conversation, but imagine three ropes with three differently colored balls attached, waiting for play. As the listener, pay close attention to which ball sails your way, then send that ball back when your turn comes. You will get a chance to serve, to initiate play, but not now. That’s a new game.
Unless talk is punched into a discussion of abstractions, all conversations volley one of these three topics: experience, behavior,or feelings. These are the balls of the game. They are not the same color, they do not sound the same as they whip around the pole, and they do not play alike. Your job? Identify the ball the speaker plays and send it back.
When people speak of experience they share something that happens to them. It may be an experience you can picture, an open act. Ice skaters Kurt Browning of Canada and Christopher Bowman of the USA might like to tell you about the experience of being in the 1992 Olympics, of trying to complete a triple axle jump followed by a triple toe loop. Or they may talk about how their hearts were beating inside their chests right before going onto the ice. They experience that, too, but you cannot see it; it is a concealed experience. Experience:things that happen to people. Some are obvious, some are concealed. Color experience red. But wait. Maybe these incredibly talented and trained men want to talk about what they didwhen it came time for the axle jump. You cannot see that Christopher told himself, “Do it! Do it right!” but he can tell you about his concealed behavior. Or he may describe obvious behavior, “Did you notice me bite my tongue on takeoff?” Imagine behavior as a yellow ball ready for play. Behavior: things people do or refrain from doing, openly or not.
“Do you want to know how I felt when I missed that first combination jump?” Kurt may ask. Immediately you know a new ball is in play, say a blue one. Feelings: how people are affected by things, especially by behavior or experience.
Since in personal conversation there are usually only three topics to expect, your work is simply to pay attention to which ball is coming your way. You do not tell people which ball to begin with, or how to deliver it. In a negative sense, listening means not playing both sides of the pole.
Listening means getting your self out of the center of things. It means noticing the people who speak to you. Pay attention to what happens while they talk. Catch their mood, the color of the conversation. Is it frivolous or frantic? Are they reluctant or eager players? Do they need to attack, or always win, or are they here to paly fair, to exchange thoughts? Are they afraid of the game? Are they self-conscious? Those conditions of play help you frame responses.
Perhaps nothing intrigues me more concerning conversation than the frequency of the phrase, “I just don’t know what to say.” I have said that often enough, when anticipating an introduction or entering a new situation. How odd that we hesitate, as if some scripted version of good or appropriate communication is out there somewhere like a floppy disk, ready to insert prior to opening our mouths. Responses are just that, responses to situations already in play. They are not required, dreadful tasks. But, since they often seem so, the pain of them lessens when a few techniques are applied.
Our verbal responses are the pertinent return of three topics served us: experience, behavior, and feelings. Real people reply authentically but attentively. Topics are limited but we have unlimited ways to play them. One of the best? The question mark slammer.
“How did it happen—this experience, this behavior, this feeling? What did you doabout how you felt? How mad was that guy in that experience?What did you donext? What did you think?Oh gosh, how did you feelwhen you saw that, or did that, or heard that?”
So far you have played a basic game. No conversational finesse has even been tried, for goodness sake. The opportunity to add details and descriptions of feelings, place, things, ideas, is yet to emerge. A finesse is an enhancement, a great quote, an example out of history or memory, a question about a fine point alluded to but not yet explored. When those touches are added, good conversation leaps to greatness and can play through the night. Listen for the opportunity to finesse, but start at the first level of play where you gain a confidence of response.
Did conversation send you a red ball? Send it back with a question attached. When listeners talk, they ask questions. When people slap a topic into conversation, they are signaling a readiness to discuss it. It is harder for some than for others, but still we know that people love to talk about themselves. Nothing is kinder than to be asked a question that grants permission to keep talking. Rest assured. People mention subjects they want to discuss. Do them a favor, Stay on target, volley the subject they served you, ask for more. Questions come easily when we intend to learn rather than instruct.
What does listening take? The answer is a question: Do I choose to hear another accurately, or do I prefer hearing myself working on my judgment and response?
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Coming up: “We Have Nothing to Fear but Hear Itself
