The Listener

I hate to be woeful, but these days have been less than ideal. Actually I must quite like being woeful, as often as I allow myself to indulge in self-pity; I have even credited it as a personality trait of mine, this talent for sifting through all the positivity in this world and grasping at anything that could make me feel further from contentment. Maybe I seek attention, or comfort from a source outside myself. Perhaps I want to be proven wrong about all the negative truths I have discovered because I require convincing in order to believe in something good. Could it be, even, that I have become addicted to a form of sadness because I have chosen the familiarity of pain over the risk of joy? Regardless, my point is that I go through my days lately feeling downcast unto numbness, and all I really want is for someone to know that.

That is really my desire, just for someone to know. Not to fix, not to judge, not even to care at this point, but just to acknowledge that this is my reality at the moment.

I am going to get coffee with an acquaintance of mine. We met in college as freshmen, and now as juniors we still still try to catch up every once in a while. It is the kind of relationship that lacks depth due to differing interests and pursuits, but we are both introverts trying to oblige the need for company, and we at least like each other well enough. She reached out first, and I suggested the meeting place. It is a simple procedure we have established, so I can expect pleasant and casual conversation, a soothing drink, an aesthetic environment, and a dopamine boost from feeling proud of myself for engaging with someone socially for an hour.

We greet and order refreshments, find our booth, and ask the "How are you's." Good, good, tired, but good. Always good. But she asks again this time, as if to confirm, "How have you been?" Sneaky, as she reworded it slightly. Actually, that's probably the introvert default question to help ease into more genuine conversation. Redundant, but can be effective for wading out of the awkward opening stage.

"I'm okay!" I say this time, upbeat, of course. The adjective change combined with a bright smile and a quick "And you?" are a subtle enough attempt at being more honest that it gives people the chance to read into my actions and dig deeper or to let it go over their heads and continue into comfortable conversation. She unfortunately reads into it.

"I'm alright, too. Sooo..." She looks down at her iced tea which she stirs with the straw. "Just okay?"

She took the bait, but now I am panicking at having to decide which direction to go in now. Continue in the direction of honest communication? Or quickly save the mood and and spare my dignity by brushing it off? You see, there is a skill I have mastered that combines these two choices fairly seamlessly, so let me introduce to you my third and favorite option: faking vulnerability.

"Yeah, just okay, honestly. Been busy (true cliché), and tired (another true cliché). But overall I've been pretty good, I really can't complain (sugarcoat it by ending on a positive note)! Builds character, as they say (deflect with comic relief)."

She courtesy laughs with me, but then strikes again with another question.

"Do you wanna elaborate on that?"

She is throwing off my social script and I hate improvising.

Here is another thing you should know about me. When the spotlight is on me, all my emotions fly out the window. I can cry woe-is-me all I want when I am alone, but once there are eyes and ears focused on me, I cannot feel a thing. It makes it hard to improvise and be truthful at the same time.

So what do I do? I thought I wanted attention, for someone to understand and validate me, for someone to show me kindness not for what I do for them in return, or for who they think I am, but simply because I am a human being, pitiful like everyone else, but still in desperate need of personal, unique compassion.

One of my forms of self-sabotage is denying my feelings and, furthermore, denying other people's access to my feelings. I have learned this about myself recently, and this is an opportunity I have to counteract that tendency. So, with a deep breath, I venture into new territory.

"Well, to elaborate I'd have to give you some more boring details..."

"I'm all ears," she retorts with a smile.

I nod. "To elaborate, I'm actually not super okay lately. I'm actually pretty unwell."

Words start spilling out, clumsily at first, but they soon start to form coherent pieces of information about my life as of late. I talk about circumstances, the external factors affecting me, my emotions, my theories on why I am how I am, why I react the way I do. Seconds turn into minutes as my mind gradually indulges more and more in this chance to be heard. I hardly make eye contact during my monologue, but I when I do, all I see in her body language is acceptance. Recipience. She is taking in every word I am saying and responding with cues that she is engaged. She nods when I describe my life, sometimes closing her eyes while doing so to indicate solidarity. She chuckles when I make a self-deprecating joke or mess up my words, as if she knows that humor plays a part in healing. She smiles, frowns, asks follow-up questions, and keeps her attention on me without being distracted by anything around us. She has unlocked a part of my psyche that had been wanting to breathe for a long time, just by listening to me.

I try to suppress feelings of guilt when we realize an hour and a half has gone by before I said, "So yeah, that's kind of it. Sorry for talking all about me."

The first thing she does is thank me for being honest with her. Why thank me, did I not just burden her or waste her time? Then she acknowledges the main points of my story and tells me it is okay that I feel the way I do. Am I actually not crazy for how I feel? Then she tells me, honestly, that she wishes she could fix all my problems, but even though that is impossible, she will be here for me if there is ever anything she can do to help, even if it is just listening more. So, she does not regret giving me her time and would willingly do this again? I struggle to even respond to such an act of love and kindness.

I am driving home now, feeling various emotions. The primary one, though, is gratitude. And relief. I am overwhelmed by how loved I feel in this moment. And I am having a thought now, about the concept of kindness. As I think about how kind my friend has been to me, I try to pinpoint what it is she actually did. And I am understanding something better now: acts of kindness can be simpler than I thought and still achieve powerful things.

I see that listening is an act. Simply listening while others voice their hearts and minds. Sitting quietly beside someone in pain is an act. Knowing about someone's experiences and just caring are acts. Nodding, smiling, assuring one's attention is engaged, these are all acts of kindness that go a long way for people needing comfort and understanding. Reaching out is a kindness, asking genuine questions is a kindness, and patiently waiting while another person navigates their emotions in real time is surely a kindness. Love can truly be expressed in simple ways.

These days are still less than ideal, and they may continue to be for a while. But I feel a bit more understood now, a bit more validated, and a bit more confident in the support of a friend. I feel less lonely and less hopeless. I also feel a renewed desire to show the same kindness I have been given to others. I want to listen more and ask more questions and sit in silence more. I want to care about others more.

In these ways, I want to become a kinder person, just as I have been blessed by kind people.