You Know What I Mean: The Strength of Listening
My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.
I love talking. A full blown miracle considering I was basically mute for most of my adolescence.
To be fair, I love talking “big” or “deep.” The “let’s deconstruct society and pop culture” or “tell me what’s really going on in your life” kind of talk. I always want to “work out” my heart and my mind to make them stronger and wiser in the same way others work out their bodies. I’m beginning to realize, however, that this intimidates many people. I think it’s because I neglect the third and other form of communication. I mentioned the two I am familiar with and which I relish.
You know what “talking” I suck at? Small talk. It’s a foreign language to me. Waiting in line at the coffee shop, ordering a drink at a lonely pub, the dreaded “four minute” talk in between church services. For a long time, I felt it was an inferior form of communication. As if those who could “talk about nothing,” as I unfairly noted, were somehow inferior in their communication because they didn’t discuss enough about ideas (big talk) or personal issues (deep talk).
Thankfully, I’ve matured from this mentality. Well, to be more accurate, I’m in the process of maturing from this mindset.
But where did it stem from? Why was I so miffed and arrogant about those who excelled at small talk? Why has it taken me so long to speak using my voice?
Because I always felt misunderstood. Because I felt like no one was listening. Because I felt like no one knew what I meant.
Listening is a tough nut to crack. On the surface, it seems like it’s a more advanced kind of hearing. We overhear things all the time but do we ever “over listen?” Overhearing can only be done if someone is multi-tasking, even if the other task is spacing out. Listening demands full attention. With this distinction, it seems evident one can’t listen passively.
Further, not only does listening require more effort than hearing, each person tends to listen for different things. Some people listen to the emotions or tone of the person speaking. Others focus on summarizing the thought of what was said. Yet still others focus on one thought or phrase that seemed to be the “main point” of what someone said.
These all count as legitimate forms of listening. However, what if listening isn’t about what we are listening to but instead about who we are listening to? What if instead of focusing on what is said, we focus more on who is speaking? What if, instead of listening in the easiest way for us, we listened in the way the speaker wanted us to listen, even if it’s the hardest way for us?
I work with kids with behavioral and academic disability. They could be on the spectrum, they could have attention deficit disorder, they could be experiencing trauma. Often these little guys experience a variation of all three.
One guy in particular, who I can reference only by initials, is quite a character. CC is on the spectrum. He’s a charming little guy until he becomes a vicious monster. He loves you one minute, hates you the next. He’s the cutest little guy in the world until he is the biggest jerk you’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. Only teachers will understand what I mean.
Which brings us to the title of this whole essay.
I’ve found such power with the simple phrase “you know what I mean?” Both when I say it and when others say it too. It’s a very simple and human way to ensure what’s being said is being understood. Or, if it’s not, for someone to say “I don’t think I know what you mean.”
Most of the interpersonal arguments I’ve had in my life were when the other person was not understanding what I was saying or when I was not understanding what they were saying.
However, to contradict my own point here, this is not true of the verbal sparring I have with CC and other students when they don’t listen to instruction. At least, it’s counter to the idea on the surface.
But the biggest thing kids are learning every day at school isn’t math, isn’t writing, isn’t the golden rule, isn’t following rules. It isn’t social dynamics, how to sit at their desk properly, when to be quiet when the teacher is talking. The biggest thing kids learn every day is how to understand. How to understand concepts. How to understand procedures. How to understand other people, including their peers and their teachers.
The best behaved students are the ones who understand why good behavior is important. Even the brown nosing, “performing” students tend to have secret “vice” behaviors when their teachers aren’t looking. Yet the best behaved kids aren’t the best because they always do the right thing (those kids don’t exist, neither do those adults). They are the best behaved because their desire understanding of why “right” behavior is right to begin with.
Pushing this further, often the worst behaved students are the least understood. No child has naughty behavior in a vacuum. After nine years in education and after school care, I can assure you there’s no such thing as a “bad” kid. There’s only deeply misunderstood kids who have deeply poor behavior because no one understands what they mean, whether through their behavior or their words (or both).
We all come into our adulthood with the misunderstandings of our childhood. The same wounds we felt as little people express themselves again when we get big. When our friends don’t call us back after the third or fourth time, we relive when we were ditched on the playground for the third or fourth time. When our significant others chastise or scold us for folding laundry incorrectly, we relive when our parents chastised or scolded us for cleaning dishes incorrectly.
People will always be more complicated than we give them credit for. We tend to observe a few behaviors of others, particularly if we don’t like them, and then heap huge negative identity statements on them with little comprehension of who they are or why they are doing those few behaviors. If only we knew “what they meant” when they did or said things we didn’t like. If only we saw past what they did or said to comprehend why they are saying or doing those things to begin with.
AR is a deeply personable kid. He is really good at establishing eye contact, and is quick to ask you questions after you’ve asked him questions. Sometimes I forget I’m talking to a kid because his listening skills are excellent.
AR can get pissed. Like the most severe kind of volcanic eruption, the same eye contact that is encouraging to see in a little guy suddenly becomes incredibly terrifying. AR also argues vehemently when told to do things directly or with a “tone.” In the past, this has led to hitting, kicking, and a whole lot of yelling. Thankfully, those first two things are no longer an ongoing issue.
What CC and AR and all the other little guys have taught me over the years is how easy it is to not understand a behavior fully. Even after all these years and all the success stories I’ve been apart of, I’m still flabbergasted about students doing the strangest behaviors. Tearing posters, kicking walls, roaming outside of the school. Although these actions might appear random and inconsequential, all actions have a purpose and are due to a prior consequence. Thomas Merton says it like this:
“Every moment and every event of every man's life on earth plants something in his soul.”
What happens when I truly listen to the behavior of my students? What happens when we truly listen to the words of our loved ones and closest friends?
The phrase “you know what I mean” followed by affirmation or clarification becomes powerful. The feeling of belonging and acceptance rises to the surface. We don’t have to wonder “is anyone hearing a word I am saying?” When we lock eyes tenderly with each other, we trust that we can talk about anything, even the deepest, most perplexing, most complicated parts of being a human, and we can believe, fully, that we are not alone. That someone is listening, with their whole body and whole person, to comprehend what we want to express. This is the best thing we can offer to each other. By listening to each other well, we love each other well.
The verse on top talks about being quick to listen followed by being slow to speak. What if speaking less allows us to listen more? What if asking more allows us to listen better? What if by listening more and listening better, we understand more and understand better? What if this helps us understand ourselves more and understand ourselves better?
Suffice to say, “you know what I mean.” By being quicker to listen than to act, we enable our actions to be more modeled after Jesus. In account after account, we don’t see Jesus rushing to criticize or being quick to lash out. His responses are poised, His understanding rich. He always really knew what people meant when they talked, even when they didn’t know what they meant.
What would it look like if when we had conversations with each other our words didn’t whizz by without truly focusing on what the other person said. Put another way, what if we focused more on others and their words ahead of focusing on ourselves and our words.
This really convicts me. I can talk and rant and rave and ramble with the best of them and never ponder for a second whether the other person has something to say to me, let alone if they have something they want me to know about them.
So then, let’s work on using our words to better understand the words of others. Let’s ask more questions and give less unsolicited advice.
“Can you explain that more?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“How does that make you feel?”
“What do you want or desire?”
By asking good questions, our loved ones feel heard. And if our loved ones feel heard, you bet that they also feel loved.
By “knowing” or asking what others mean with their words, we love them better and follow the two greatest commandments better too.