My wife was a natural listener and empathizer. Everyone knew it – even strangers who had never met her before would make eye contact and the next thing you knew, they were sharing deeply personal secrets, fears and stories.
I used to tease her about it because it happened everywhere: at the grocery store, walking down the street, in line waiting to enter the movie theater, on the bus. Most of these encounters were with normal people who just needed someone to listen and care (I guess). A few were people I could tell were crazy, antisocial or severely mentally ill. It didn’t matter to my wife. She welcomed the conversations and exuded kindness.
I loved this about her.
I, on the other hand, was invisible. I had perfected this art during my childhood and carried it forward into adulthood. I was so glad that random people didn’t seek me out to have deep, intimate conversations. That was the last thing I wanted to do.
This changed for me when I got sober in AA twenty years ago. I became much more open to human connection, conversations and opportunities to be of service. In fact, looking for opportunities to help others became a guiding principal in my life.
I’d notice when coworkers seemed “off”. I recognized when people were struggling. I’d see the stranger crying in her car, the neighbor who needed a helping hand but would never ask, the kid who looked lost and afraid. I would look them in the eye, smile and say gently, “Do you need some help?” or “Are you OK?”
The reply was usually a reflection, “I’m fine. No – I don’t need your help.”
I’d pause, then I’d say, “Are you sure?”
Sometimes right then, the dam would break and they’d be sobbing or ranting or accepting my offer of assistance. Mostly all I did was give them my full attention and listen for a few minutes.
Rarely (almost never) did I have any words of sage advice or solutions to their problem.
I don’t interact with many people on a daily basis anymore. I left AA and work years ago. My wife died in 2018. I’m an introverted loner who talks more to his dogs than any human beings. I have fewer opportunities to listen.
Recently I had two encounters with people I hardly know who opened up to share something deeply personal with me out of the blue. I wasn’t expecting either one.
Both times I didn’t know what to say. I had no personal experience with what either person was going through so I couldn’t share any personal experience or advice.
I wasn’t going offer platitudes or a generic positive message like “things will get better”. Some things will not get better.
So I listened.
I said, “I’m sorry you’re going through this. It sounds hard.”
There was nothing else for me to say.