Back in high school (I think it was around 2003) I was getting good grades in English class, but my speaking experience was limited to what I learned in class. At the time, my uncle was working as a front desk manager at a hotel. I saw an opportunity and asked him if he could arrange a job for me in a position where I could improve my language skills. Thankfully, he set it up and I would be working at the front desk, and that way my English would improve. I started the job, but I just couldn’t bring myself to speak. One day, my uncle asked an elderly Englishman (with whom he was on good terms) to come by and try talking to me. I expressed myself quite well, and the man said, “There you go, you’re speaking... Let’s practice a bit.” At one point, when my answers started to become unrelated to the questions being asked, the man said something like this to me: “Your English is good, and you can speak, but when I ask you a question, you’re already thinking of your answer before I’ve even finished my sentence. If you can fix that, you’ll speak much more comfortably.”
At the time, I thought he was right because it really was happening just as he said. Over time, I paid close attention to this—my brain was working so fast, after all—and I realized that when I listened to the question 100 percent, I could answer much more comfortably. At first, my responses were slow, but over time they sped up, and before I knew it, I’d become someone who speaks English.
Then, as I got older, I thought a lot about this topic, took notes for myself, and observed people.
I saw that in most conversations, there were actually two monologues strung together one after the other. While the other person was speaking, our minds were already formulating a response, preparing a counterargument, or waiting for our turn to tell our own story. It was so automatic that we didn’t even notice it. We were hearing, but we weren’t really listening.
So why was this the case?
Over time, I realized that ego was at the root of this. Listening, in a way, means stepping back. It means prioritizing the other person’s words, thoughts, and even feelings over your own—even if just for a moment. And that’s uncomfortable. Because our desire to be right, our desire to be understood, or simply our desire to escape the silence gets in the way.
Listening may seem passive, but it’s actually the hardest thing to do. Speaking is easy because we’re in control at that moment. Listening is hard because we have to let go of control.
The philosopher Martin Buber makes an interesting distinction here. According to him, people either form an “I-It” relationship or an “I-You” relationship with others. (1*) In an “I-It” relationship, the person across from us is like an object—a source of information, an obstacle, or a tool. In an “I-You” relationship, however, the other person is a real being, someone with their own inner world.
Most of our conversations actually function like an “I-It” relationship, without us even realizing it. Even when we’re listening to the other person, we treat them as a “source of answers.” What they say becomes material for our next sentence. Truly shifting to an “I-You” relationship—that is, listening to the other person as a real being—is a much rarer occurrence.
In fact, there are different levels of listening. They are not all the same.
Otto Scharmer, who works on organizational learning, defines listening in four levels. (2*) The most superficial level is listening to confirm what we already know. In other words, no matter what the other person says, we already know the answer; we’re just waiting for confirmation. The second level is listening to notice what’s different. That is, finding new information noteworthy and taking note of it. The third level is empathetic listening. This means truly stepping into the other person’s perspective and trying to see things from their point of view. The fourth and deepest level is what Scharmer calls “generative listening”: a moment when both we and the other person are transformed through the act of listening.
Most of us spend the majority of our day at the first level. We listen to confirm what we already know. And we don’t even realize that this isn’t really listening.
There’s also this: some forms of listening are actually defensive in nature.
Psychologist Marshall Rosenberg, while working on nonviolent communication, realized this: most of the time, when we listen to the other person, we’re actually categorizing them. (3*) “That’s an accusation.” “That’s a criticism.” “That’s an unfair comment.” And the moment we categorize them, we stop listening and go on the defensive. The other person is still speaking, but we’re no longer listening—we’re formulating a response.
According to Rosenberg, true listening means setting aside this urge to categorize and trying to hear the need underlying the other person’s words. When we hear a criticism, instead of saying, “That’s unfair,” we should ask, “What does this person need that’s making them say this?”
This is very difficult. Because our defensive instinct kicks in very quickly—it takes over before we even have a chance to think.
There’s also a biological aspect to this.
Neuroscientist Giacomo Rizzolatti and his team discovered mirror neurons in the 1990s. When we watch someone else perform an action, the same regions of our brain light up as if we were performing that action ourselves. (4*) Over time, this discovery became the foundation of empathy research: when we truly listen to someone, we experience their emotional state to some extent within our own brains.
But there’s one condition for this to work: we need to truly focus our attention on that moment and that person. This resonance doesn’t occur when our mind is busy formulating a response. In other words, listening isn’t just a matter of etiquette—it’s a biological capacity. If we don’t use it, it atrophies.
Therapist Michael Nichols, drawing on over thirty years of clinical experience, wrote: what people often need isn’t advice, but to truly be heard. (5*) According to him, not being listened to creates a kind of feeling of invisibility, as if we weren’t even there.
And here’s an interesting point: listening requires a certain humility. To truly listen means acknowledging that what the other person is saying might be more important than what I already know. Accepting this pushes the ego into the background. And the ego doesn’t like being pushed aside.
Ever since I realized this, I’ve observed the following in myself: when silence falls during a conversation, a sense of unease arises within me. The urge to fill that silence. The urge to say something. Yet that silence might actually be the space needed for the other person to finish their thought.
Feeling uncomfortable with silence is, in fact, another form of feeling uncomfortable with listening.
I’d like to share these practices I’ve developed for myself with you:
Make sure you aren’t formulating a response while the other person is speaking. If your mind drifts toward a response, notice it and bring your attention back.
Pause for a second before responding. Let that second signal the end of thinking—not the end of listening.
Ask yourself, “Did I really understand?”—not “Is it my turn now?”
When you hear a criticism or objection, instead of immediately categorizing it, try asking, “What does this person need?”
Try listening to a conversation without ever interjecting your own story. It’ll be hard. That difficulty itself shows what we’ve lost.
Notice the moment when silence makes you uncomfortable. That discomfort itself is telling you something.
As I write this, I must also admit: writing this piece held up my own habits like a mirror. I saw that what I thought was listening was actually just waiting for my turn to speak. I also realized at what level I was listening. Most of the time, it’s at the first level—just to confirm what I already know.
This awareness hasn’t made me a perfect listener. But at least I can now recognize when I’m not listening. And that’s better than not noticing at all.
Here’s a question for you, the reader of this post:
When you’re talking to someone, are you really listening to them? Or are you busy preparing your response or trying to defend yourself?
See you in the next post. Until then, stay well.
(1*) Martin Buber, I and Thou (1923)
(2*) C. Otto Scharmer, Theory U: Leading from the Future as It Emerges (2009)
(3*) Marshall B. Rosenberg, Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life (2003)
(4*) Giacomo Rizzolatti and his team, research on mirror neurons (1990s)
(5*) Michael P. Nichols, *The Lost Art of Listening* (1995)
