Listening: the lost art form

"I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen."

                                                                                                                     --Ernest Hemingway

I’ve come to learn that listening is an art.  Like any art form, you have to practice it consistently to have any ability to do the skill well.  When I was five years old, I decided piano was a good instrument choice for me, and my parents came along side my decision by saying that if I wanted to take part in learning the piano, I had to take part in committing myself to a long term agreement of training and practice. In retrospect, I’m glad I had parents that made me follow through, because now the piano, after all those grueling childhood hours, is not only my therapy but also my joy.  The same goes for listening, it takes daily practice and longevity to train your ear for a full 100% engagement mode.  And you have to train your ear to not only hear the words that are being sent through the air, but actually hear their tone, their meaning, their depth, their purpose and their truth. 

We treat things so frivolously in our culture. We don’t question the ins and outs of our world, we just take words at face value when there are so many levels and shelves of information that we are handed daily.  Not only is that information glaring at us, but our doors are shut to hear that information, greatest reason being that we are mostly consumed with ourselves.

We’ve all talked to people that are not present in a conversation. Frustrating isn’t it?  We’ve all energetically tried to engage with that one on the other side of the receiver who is obviously disctracted. We’ve all repeated something for the 40^th time wondering where the listener was the last 39.  We’ve all become drained trying to get in a word edgewise to the one whose mouth is the only thing that functional. Truthfully, it gets exhausting.

“Be still” is a reference the Bible uses that most Americans could not comfortably exercise.  The ability to stop, be silent, sit quietly, let your mind rest, take captive your thoughts, no music, no TV, no this-activity or that-activity, no unnecessary stimuli, just stillness. In that place of utter solitude, if you listen, you begin to hear. And the greatest voice will rise up to speak to you: your heart. It will begin to tell you things that it doesn’t normally get to say…it will begin to share truths that you normally don’t pay mind to, it will begin to confide secrets that you may not know, it will finally have it’s chance to be vulnerable and honest and heard. But, you have to listen.

The same goes for your neighbor—the one who sits across from you in whatever circumstance.  You have to take that divine moment with that individual and create a place of stillness. To do so you will need to put yourself away, you will have to let your needs and your thoughts rest on the sideline as you welcome the words and thoughts of another.  In this place of welcoming you listen, letting grace and mercy be the landing pad of their words, letting good reason allow you to filter these formed sentences into levels of depth and meaning. As you practice this, you will soon begin to not only hear the words of another person, but you will soon begin to actually hear their heart—the trueness of who they really are…the most delicate piece of them that they most want you to know.

Listening is an art form, but you have to practice, so you can joy in the beauty of someone else's words.

Chaplin: The Unsuccessful Smile

During my whirlwind of a week in NYC, I enjoyed an evening of theatre with my newly acquired friends from New Jersey.  I sat between the couple, front and center, as we watched the story of Charlie Chaplin’s entire life funnel into a two-and-a-half hour experience accompanied by intermittent songs.  Up to this point, my knowledge of Mr. Chaplin was next to nothing except to know of his comedic movies, particularly styled moustache/hat/cane combo and composition “Smile.”  Things I didn’t know were his British roots that included a highly dysfunctional mother, his numerous marriages not to mention lovers, his business partnership with his brother in the film industry, and his desire to move into dramatic films away from comedy.

On a theatrical level, the show brought a real humanness to this man whom I’ve always considered just a caricature and not necessarily real.  But you were able to see many glimpses of the theatrically enhanced truth of Chaplin’s life: the unwillingness to deal with a very sick mother, the knock-down drag-out fights exiting his numerous divorces, his dealing with neurotic fans (not to mention gossip columnist), and his desire for fame and fortune which began to rule his life.

While watching the finale (giving no plot lines away) there was quite a celebration of Chaplin’s life that lead me to the question, are we celebrating Chaplin as a person or are we celebrating Chaplin as an artist?  Celebrating Chaplin as an artist I have no problem with, but Chaplin as a human, I struggle. 

One phrase that kept pervading my thoughts during the show: profession trumps people.  My definition is simple: it’s when a person solely chooses their career over people they claim to love, honor and value. It’s when the thought or drive of success becomes the hierarchy in one’s world, and they will sacrifice whatever it takes to attain it. Or, it’s when one chooses a career as one’s hiding place so there is no dealing with the everyday of life.

I clearly saw this effect on both Chaplin’s brother, who he eventually fired from his studio, and Chaplin’s wives who always begged for quality time but never received it.  Reason being was because Chaplin was climbing so hard to the top of the success ladder no one could even keep up. All they saw were the bottom of his shoes.

Have you ever seen a resume on a tombstone? I suppose if you paid the extra fee for the engraving of such an expensive honorarium, you could solidify your accomplishments. But when you are pushing up daisies, what does it matter?  And why are the decisions to strive to the “top” come at so great a cost? It is worth it to undermine, ignore, hide or hurt those around you for the great gold star of success?

I find it fascinating that the humans that are so damaged in their upbringings are the same humans who have the greatest ability to make you laugh. And during that laughter, we neglect to look back and see the source of where that joke and gag are arising. Making someone laugh creates peace, it calms the waters, it covers an atmosphere saying, “everything is ok.” Except that laughter doesn’t heal hurt, it only ices the wounds for a little while.

Chaplin could make me laugh. What a gift one human gives another: laughter. What he gift he gave us. Yet, Chaplin couldn’t live in his movies forever. He had to go home at night and in the morning wake up beside many people who shared his bed in rapid rotation. He had to look at his brother everyday at the studio. He daily went about his life knowing his mother was just miles away and mentally sick. What did he offer these dying connections: a joke? 

He best describes himself:

Smile though your heart is aching

Smile even though it's breaking.

When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by.

If you smile through your pain and sorrow

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You'll see the sun come shining through

For you.

Light up your face with gladness,

Hide every trace of sadness.

Although a tear may be ever so near

That's the time you must keep on trying

Smile, what's the use of crying.

You'll find that life is still worthwhile-If you just smile.

Chaplin’s life carried sadness, and he covered it with laughter and success. If only he would have learned to accept the pain and sorrow, understand the aching of his own heart and make friends with his sadness.  Then, he could have truly smiled.