Two years ago, I collected links to articles and research on the topic of listening.
Over the course of 15 posts, some of the links would become references.
Those I didn't select for that post, I'd roll to a new unpublished page.
It was a trick attributed (sort of) to Ernest Hemingway.
According to legend, Hemingway would stop writing mid-stream even when he knew what came next.
He called this "avoiding emptying the well of his writing". He trusted his subconscious to refill it overnight.
For 15 posts, I did the same.
But on #16, this post, I simply stopped.
However, I published the page.
For two years, the blog post at the top of my website simply had three links.
These:
- https://hbr.org/2021/12/how-to-become-a-better-listener
- https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/1052562917748696?journalCode=jmed
- https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/27151897/
I had convinced myself no one was coming here to read my blog.
EVEN through my Google Analytics report last week showed 37 visitors in the month of May. Not thousands, but I was suddenly embarrassed...did they see these links sitting, orphaned? Untended? A sign of my
As my IT partner checked my website after a transition in service, he paused at the Blog and wondered out loud, "Well, that doesn't look right?"
I sheepishly admitted that, actually, it did look right.
I explained that on purpose, I had published three URLs, and they just sat there for the world to see in preview.
I don't know why I haven't been back.
Or, maybe the explanation is simple and truthful: My attention was elsewhere.
I've been on Substack writing the randomness that is my soul -- leadership, poetry... https://nobodymakesitalone.substack.com/
I've been pitching a book (to no avail).
I've been prepping a self-published book (same book I've pitched to no avail).
I've been trying to figure out disclaimers and author's liability insurance. I've been working, mothering, and watching too much TV. I've been playing Boggle and teaching a child to drive. I've re-entered a commercial gym and stared at line drawings trying to figure out how to use the medieval-looking contraption to get the glutes of my dreams.
I've been...living.
And, I've also been practicing listening.
The great news is that the perfect book title for a book on listening dropped in my lap by way of a viral commencement speech.
Because I was listening.
While listening to a free webinar about writing a book (no surprise), the advice given to the question "how do you know what to write" was "what is the single most important message you'd want to give to the world if you knew there was only enough time to give one."
"Oh, world," I thought. "I have so many messages."
That is true. And, what is also true is that I have one message that matters most.
It always has.
Some would like to teach the world to sing (in perfect harmony...).
I'd like to teach the world to listen.
To listen with every pore.
With every heart beat.
With every atom of our corporeal essence.
With deep, deep feeling.
With empathy that surpasses even the best AI responses ("Thanks for that, Amy. I can tell how much this means to you.") If you have used AI, you know what I'm talking about. Because we're ALL talking about how well Claude understands us.
Which brings us back to this post, On Listening (Part 16).
I think it's time to return.
So, I will roll over these three links (I did not open them yet. I don't know what they hold) to a blank blog post and begin again.
(Is anyone else humming the Coca-Cola smash hit jingle too?) If so, this New Seekers recording on YouTube is my gift to you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koBiXquzmr8
