Listening saves money? Yep. No investment insights, and yet, appreciating value.

I listened to a friend for an hour, and was thanked. I had a few days with good friends, which also meant sharing the time, and felt better than I’ve felt for years. And I also know what it feels like to speak and realize that none of the words found a home.

Yes. Yes. Listening is good. What’s the point?

Listening well can reduce some folk’s need for therapy, paid therapy, expensive paid therapy, therapy that has a time limit.

Have you ever had a conversation that went on for twelve hours? I wonder if there are any therapists who have that much time. The world is chaotic. There is always pressure to help the next person, and to save time for the therapist to have a life, also to recover from hearing a day’s worth of varied stories, some of which are dramatic, some of which are traumatic. I bow to their expertise and resilience.

Talking about mental health issues inspires many people to change the topic. Understandable. I enjoy listening to friends and feel privileged to hear their stories, and honored to hear the parts that they’ve never told anyone else. I also am human, not a professional therapist, so some stories make me back away – and encourage them to talk to a professional.

I’ve talked to professionals. Depending on how you count it, I’ve had a therapist about every ten years, usually for about a year. They have helped me (though I think I helped one more than they helped me. Hey, we’re all human.)

In 2004, I had chest pains. It was amazing how quickly I could get an appointment to see my regular doctor. I asked for an appointment within the next few weeks. They made a slot for me within a day. Lay down. Get an EKG. Wonder and worry about why they thought that was necessary. The doctor comes in, tapping a pencil on a clipboard. “This is classic.” I’m worrying that I’m evidently having a heart attack. He slightly chuckles. “This is classic. You have a perfectly normal healthy heart.” That was the joke. We knew each other. He read me well, or at least well enough. “Your problem is not in your heart but in your head.” He referred me to a mental health practitioner. 

That’s a relief? Evidently there was some benefit to all that exercise masquerading as hiking, biking, skiing, and karate.

Six months of therapy sessions later I asked the therapist, “Am I crazy?” Yeah, it took me six months to work up the courage to ask the question. “No.” Whew. “You’re under a lot of stress with a very thin support network.” Whew?

I’ll paraphrase his general observation.

Fifty years ago, guys would stop at the bar on the way home from work. They’d vent to the other guys. Fifty years ago, women who weren’t working would get together for a variety of social and civic events, maybe with wine. Now, we don’t drink and drive, so that’s good, and there are more women in the workplace, which has its benefits. But we’ve lost the gathering of ‘like-minded’ souls who commiserate. Shared pain is diminished. Shared joy is amplified, but there seems, seems, to be less of that, lately. So, the majority of his clients aren’t crazy, they’re simply humans who need to listen, and occasionally, provide some advice. It’s more expensive than beer or wine, and it isn’t as frequent as the bar or the social circle, but it is what we have.

He helped.

A few years ago, the medical community declared an ‘epidemic of loneliness’. We have all those issues from things lost fifty years ago, but now people feel that social media and texts can replace personal contact. As a friend revealed recently, they feel a lack of personal contact. It isn’t sexual. It is hugs and handshakes. I get some of that through dancing, and I understand what they said. We got some good hugs in. I’ve got to get back into practice.

How much of today’s…dissatisfaction is people feeling alone, or cut off, or not heard?

So, I listen. When I’m doing public speaking I speak, naturally; but even then I prefer to begin before I begin by talking to people in the audience to hear what they want to hear. If I’ve produced yet another book, do they want to hear about the book, the writing process, publishing, or simply want to be entertained?

And then there are those quiet, simple conversations that start with no agenda but if allowed to go on long enough reach a point when significance is found. By then I have a good idea of how much to listen and how much to say. What I say has frequently been simply, “I’m sorry.” What I’ve learned not to say (though I do on occasion) is “So you should do…”

Recently, I admitted to my therapist that I was embarrassed to have nothing dramatic or traumatic to share. He grinned. Every conversation does not have to be dramatic or traumatic. Sometimes it is the simple things that are most revealing. Sometimes a conversation, even a professional one, needs a breath, a rest.

I’ve also mentioned to my therapist that, in times like now, they seem to be needed more than usual. He agreed, but I get the impression that he’s always busy.

And while I prefer to listen, I realize that when I’m in a session it is my time to talk. And I talk. Simply taking it all in and never letting something out is unsustainable, I guess. Maybe the pros can do it. But I’m happy to listen to my friends, and maybe talk some, too. No beer or wine or formal training required. Talk is cheap Ain’t that great?