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314 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 3, 1994
Listening isn’t a need we have; it’s a gift we give.
What we can’t tolerate in others is what we can’t tolerate in ourselves.
Most people think more about what they want to say than about what is being said to them.
Triangulation—ventilating feelings of frustration to third parties rather than addressing conflicts at their source—takes on epidemic proportions in work settings. Letting off steam by complaining about other people is a perfectly human thing to do. The problem is that habitual complaining about superiors locks us into passivity and resentment. We may have given up trying to get through to the sons of bitches, but by God we don’t mind saying what we think of them—as long as they aren’t within earshot.
Caring enough to listen doesn’t mean going around selflessly available to everyone you encounter. Rather, it means being alert to those situations in which someone you care about needs to be listened to. Ironically, our ability to listen is often worst with the people closest to us. Conflict, habit, and the pressure of emotions makes us listen least well where listening is most needed.
When people talk about feelings—what they’re excited about, what’s troubling them—they want to be listened to and acknowledged, not interrupted with advice or told that someone else had a similar experience. They want listeners who will take the time to hear and acknowledge what they’re saying, not turn the focus to themselves.
Our parents may be the most important unfinished business of our lives.
In spite of the large emotions involved, marriage isn’t about monumental issues; it’s about little things, about everydayness, about knowing that tomorrow morning you’ll wake up with a new chance to work at it, to get it a bit more wrong or right.