Shhhh…stop talking and listen

Someone shouting into a microphone

I recently had the extraordinary privilege of bearing witness to some of a friend’s few remaining words.  I was visiting her in the Highland Hospice in-patient unit where she was receiving the kind of tender care, I wish all of us are lucky enough to receive when we’re end of life.   She looked and was as fragile as a bird, perched at the edge of life. When I held her, I was holding a whisp of smoke, something that no matter how much you want to keep with you, it dissipates between your fingers and before your eyes.  Then she turned and said in her soft Geordie accent, “I’ve no idea why I’m still alive, maybe I’ve just got more to say?”

So I offered to return with my recording kit and capture whatever it was she wanted to say before she left us, offered to help her craft an audio offering as a legacy to her husband and family. 

For 2 hours across 2 of her last days I gently guided her through the memories of her life - stories of eating scraps of food her mum had thrown out for the birds when she was a toddler; stories of how she met her husband and his romancing her by singing Turkish lullabies down the phone late at night; stories of her finding and losing a perfect beach on a Scottish shore. 

Without doubt listening to her was one of the most precious and unforgettable experiences I’ve ever had and it certainly transformed my grief at our eventually losing her just a week later.   

I think we can forget the power, joy and value of the gift of listening, particularly, perhaps a bit perversely, when it’s your job to listen.  Lots of us listen for a living but for me as a presenter, event chair and podcast host, I’m conscious I can too readily get caught up in the nuts and bolts of the job – asking questions, staying on track, and managing the flow of the conversation or discussion – and I can forget that more than anything else what matters is to listen, really, really listen.

I’ve always felt that when someone is listening intently you can hear it.  You can hear them leaning forwards, feel them on the edge of that seat and it puts me on that seat beside them, as an audience member I listen hard because they are.  But being a good listener isn’t just about waiting for your turn to speak. It’s about actively engaging with your guest’s story, picking up on subtle cues, and understanding the nuances of their message.   And when you do truly listen, it doesn’t just help your guest—it has a huge impact on you and your audience as well.

Now, I like to think I’m not bad at it although there is always, always room for improvement especially if, like me, you’re one of life’s expansive talkers.  I remember in the early days of presenting and reporting I’d cling to my questions like a life raft, terrified I’d be left floundering mid-recording.  Over time, as I became less terrified of the production process and let go of a slice of the imposter syndrome I’ve always packed in my bag, I learned to relax which in turn allowed me to focus more carefully on the person I was listening to.  Now, more often than not, I just push the questions to one side, normally face down, I rarely turn them over other than to check I’ve done the essential housekeeping. 

I also learned to never be fearful of a silence, to let it sit when it arose, never to rush to fill it.  It has its place. Silence can suggest thoughts being pushed around, authenticity, the rooting around for an answer, intense emotion.  I interviewed the Scottish poet Kathleen Jamie on several occasions who often answered with silence, sometimes followed by “that’s an interesting question can I go away and think about it!”.  I still remember with a smile when I was first training at Radio 4 as a continuity announcer and my boss and mentor at the time, the legendary late Peter Donaldson, told me a pause wasn’t long enough “til it hurts”.   I used to listen to the end of a drama programme and count in my head, feeling my way into the audience’s response and reaction to what they’d just heard, leaving them to their thoughts until I felt it time to nudge my own way in.   I used to edit out a silence, now I don’t, its there for a reason and if you’re listening carefully, you’ll know it.

So listening in my book is precious skill, one you should practise and hone the art of, because it is an art, and if you still need convinced, go to the next blog post for a few tips on why listening matters and how you can use it as a more effective tool in your own programme making, podcasting and presenting