You Can’t Listen While Thinking of What to Say
Hear ≠ Listen
I can’t even count how many times I was talking to someone, just waiting to say: — And me, you know? — Once I had this or that…
It was so alive in me that I couldn’t focus on what the other person was saying. I wasn’t really listening. And that stopped me from connecting.
Now, looking back with time and perspective, I don’t blame myself. But I do try not to let it happen again.
To Hear
Hearing is easy. It’s just sound. Like a drill. Loud, automatic, unmissable.
But in a world full of speed and scripted responses, human things — like someone telling you one of their favorite stories — can go unnoticed. If your mind is galloping ahead like horses in full sprint, it’s like you’re riding beside someone, shouting from the saddle.
Even if you’re side by side, you’re focused on the horse, the road, what’s next. There’s no room to truly connect, just because you're close doesn't mean you're present.
To Listen
Listening is more than sound. It’s presence.
Imagine the horses are calm now. You and a friend ride together, walking slowly, no rush. Now there’s room for conversation. No one has to yell. You’re side by side. You hear. You feel. You respond.
That’s what human presence feels like. No pressure about who talks. Just a natural flow.
You don’t need to plan what to say next. You can hear, and process, and understand. That’s where connection begins.
Presence
To Understand
Hearing a song for the first time — you might catch a glimpse of its meaning. But it’s only with repetition, with focus, that you know the lyrics, the beat, the flow.
And eventually, something rises — a realization, a truth, a feeling that lands. That’s understanding.
Conversations are like songs. The more we listen, the more we understand. And when that happens — a shared theme, a common rhythm — something begins to form. A connection. A kind of album you create with someone else.
You begin to treat interactions like music — Not just noise. But something you can play with awareness, with feeling.
You don’t force a laugh when someone’s hurting. You don’t change the rhythm when the moment calls for quiet. You learn to play what fits.
So yeah — it’s not easy.
But patience and focus, especially in the beginning, reward you in ways you can’t see yet.
