Learning to listen without trying to fix everything

I’m a problem solver. Give me a challenge, and my mind starts working on it. I want to understand what’s wrong, figure out what we can do, and get moving.

That’s helped me in business. It’s part of why I enjoy building things and helping people work through difficult situations.

But I’m learning how much that instinct can get in the way of listening.

Especially with the people I love most.

My wife or my daughter can be sharing something with me, and before they’ve finished, I’m already thinking about how to help. I have an idea. I see a way forward. I want to give them something that makes the situation better.

My intention is to help. But sometimes I’ve started working on the problem before I’ve really heard the person.

That’s a hard thing to recognize in yourself when you think you’re being useful.

I’ve been working on this, and it’s difficult for me. There’s an urge to jump in, ask a question that moves us toward an answer, or explain how I see it. Even when I stay quiet, I can still be preparing what I’m going to say.

I’m learning that listening takes more attention than that.

I have to be willing to let someone finish their thought without deciding where it should lead. To hear something I might see differently and stay curious long enough to understand it. To leave a little silence without feeling responsible for filling it.

Some of the deepest conversations I’ve had with my wife and my daughter have happened when I’ve been able to do that. When I’ve given them room to speak and stayed with what they were saying.

Those conversations have been powerful for me. I’ve learned things I might have missed if I’d stepped in too soon. And some of my own growth has come from hearing something I needed to understand, even when it wasn’t easy to hear.

It makes me wonder how often I’ve moved a conversation along just when it needed more time.

There’s something uncomfortable about hearing that someone you love is struggling and allowing yourself to sit there with them. I want to make it better. I want them to know they can count on me.

But I’m beginning to understand that they can count on me to listen, too. That has value even when I don’t have an answer.

I also have to make room for the possibility that my first understanding is incomplete. The part I immediately want to solve may be only one piece of what they’re trying to tell me. If I rush toward a solution, I might never hear the rest.

That matters in my marriage. It matters as a father. And it matters in the way I work with people.

Experience gives me ideas to offer. It also gives me assumptions I need to be willing to question. Someone else deserves the opportunity to explain their own experience before I bring mine into it.

I still want to help. I’m learning to be more patient about finding out what help would actually mean to the person in front of me.

Sometimes there will be a decision to work through together. Sometimes they’ll want my perspective. Sometimes the conversation needs room before either of us knows what comes next.

I don’t get this right every time. I still catch myself interrupting or offering an answer too quickly. When I notice it, I’m trying to stop and give the conversation back.

My wife and my daughter have more to teach me than I can hear while I’m preparing my response.

I want to keep getting better at listening long enough to learn.

— Lisle Head