Points of failure: Learning to listen
- 38 minutes ago
- 3 min read
Since 2018 I’ve been an amateur audiophile.
I caught vinyl fever from a roommate and became obsessed with audio quality. The search for high fidelity added novelty to my love of music. It sent me into a honeymoon phase with it all over again.
I became enamored with how albums I grew up listening to on CD sounded on vinyl. Freed from digital compression, I discovered layers that made them new again. Most importantly, the quest for the best sounding records exposed me to music I’d ignored. Suddenly, I was in love with Jazz; laid in my living room hearing Coltrane, Monk, or Miles taking their time on a melody.
They were teaching me how to listen.
Body-Driven Decisions
About three years into my vinyl craze, I started seeing a therapist for the first time. I’ve written before about how much our work impacted me. Out of our many sessions together, I remember the one that first made me question if I knew how to listen at all.
We’d been going over an important decision: whether to leap into management at my job. For weeks I had been rationalizing myself in and out of it with her. Pulling data from the spreadsheets of my mind, making arguments for why I should or shouldn’t go for it.
“How does imagining each scenario feel in your body?” She asked one day.
“In my body? I struggled to respond. “Purple, fearful, confusing.”
She asked me to imagine first accepting the position, then declining, and with each, asking me what my chest felt like, my stomach, if my breathing changed, or if I noticed any at all.
She pointed out how she had noticed that I tend to make decisions only with my mind. “You should include the information from your body, not just your head. You’re ignoring the wisdom stored there.“ She put one hand on her head, and the other her stomach.
“Data-Driven vs. Body-driven decisions” I wrote in my journal that night.
Integration
I decided to entertain the possibility of becoming a manager and see what my body would tell me through the process. Over the next couple of weeks I interviewed for the position and ran the same exercise for myself after each round. On my next therapy session, I told her how embarrassed I was at failing to see this before.
“That’s ok,” she reassured me, “as you continue to work on yourself, you’ll begin to integrate more signals from all parts of you, not just your head.”
When I asked if all of this had a name she said “Well, integrity, of course.”
It was a giant “oh shit,” moment for me.
The Inner Voice
I’d been ignoring my inner voice.
The same voice that had guided me through some of my best decisions: immigrating into the US, choosing my partner, or simply following a hunch that led to joy or fun. That voice had looked out for me in more ways than I had acknowledged.
Somehow I’d stopped giving that voice a seat at the table.
When my jaw hurt from grinding my teeth over a situation, I ignored it. When my chest tightened when facing a decision, I thought I could just stretch. When needing to choose a direction, I’d first ask for opinions before sitting with it by myself.
While I was growing my record collection, I was listening to everyone except myself.
Practice Small
Since my work with that therapist ended, I’ve chosen one value from our sessions as an annual theme. Year one was vulnerability. Year two it was agency. This year it’s integration.
I’m making a habit out of practicing small; making the call myself before asking for an opinion, paying attention to my body when it flashes a warning sign, and pursuing my curiosity even when there’s no clear reason.
So far it’s worked out great.
I turned down a job opportunity and am finding joy in recommitting to my current work. I got ticket upgrades for a play just by calling the theater on a whim. I moved a record launch I had planned for the summer to the winter, and saw my highest first week’s sales ever.
Small decisions made with my full self, not just my head.
I still start and end each day with a record. But now I journal first, to hear what I have to say.
