People Who Listen (Or the Beauty of Engagement in the World)

One of the hardest things to find in the world, I am realizing, are people who listen. Really listen. It’s clichéd, maybe, but I am mystified when I find people who do—it sticks out into the air like a tree branch you can swing on.

Last night, I went to a friend’s engagement party. There were a handful of people there I hadn’t seen in a couple years, people I’ve known for about 10 years, amazingly. They are smart people. Successful professionally—steeped in what they do: urban planner, lawyer, doctor, editor, nurse practitioner…etc. One has a baby, two are getting married this summer, two are already married. All have found what they believe are their partners. (“Don’t worry, said one, an ex-boyfriend of mine, “fifty percent of us will be divorced soon enough.”) But what makes them remarkable, I realized last night, is that they wanted to hear each other. They took time to listen. To enjoy one another’s stories, to appreciate one another’s being in love.

The more I listen to friends, the more the world opens up. Forgive me, all three of you readers, I feel a bit drugged lately. Like if I ever took hallucinogens (which, you can imagine, would be no good for dear McBickle) this is how it would feel: like the edges of life are crisp, but each moment is nestled in a ruffly bough. A bough in a bower. A bower with birds.

I feel like a small animal, say, a tiny lizard, who can jump from leaf to leaf in this perfect space and explore whole new universes in each of their veins.

[I now return you to your daily, non-tripping programming. (Unless you are a couple of my specific readers. In which case, I return you to your daily trips.)]