Pretending to Listen

Issue 173

Plitvice Lakes, Croatia 2016

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Conversation is the art of pretending to listen while waiting to speak. The objective is to remain calm, to appear poised, attentive, interested, to contort your face into a caring, thoughtful expression, while you anxiously await just the right moment to interrupt. Amid the tedium and frustration and banality, amid the relentless stream of drivel that clogs your ears, you must, somehow, appear engaged. Although you can use this time to think about other topics. You can even use this time to plan your next little lecture, regardless of how it relates to what’s currently discussed. Because the true art isn’t really what you end up saying, nor is it how you contribute, it is your facility for interjection, your knack for spotting a long breath or tiny pause or slight distraction, and exploiting that hesitation in speech to jumpstart your own monologue, one that’s unrelated, irrelevant, incongruous—yet utterly unstoppable.

Some people, alas, are not quite so adept. They insist on listening. They focus on the subject. They respond in a tone and with words that correspond to the discussion. They ask questions that are relevant and stimulating. They manage to convey empathy, somehow even exhibiting an interest in what’s been said. They don’t interrupt. And they’re not distracted by noises or flashes or disturbances. Thankfully, these people are rare, and you don’t have to deal with them too often.

Nearly everyone, however, has a memory for conversation, regardless of where they fall on the spectrum of conversational ability. Not necessarily a verbatim memory for words, nor even an accurate summary of the topics, but simply an understanding of the character and tone and sensation of conversations, that most human of pastimes. This is one commonplace aspect of memory that’s indifferent to ability and present in even the worst conversationalists. Imprinted in nearly everyone’s mind, it seems, is this long and evocative record, with a lifetime of joyous, pivotal, hurtful, and simply interesting conversations that always remain vivid.

Even though chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, dolphins, whales, birds, and other animals possess a language ability, and do communicate, however crudely, only humans, I believe, open taverns and celebrate anniversaries and hold criminal trials, with so much of life clearly oriented around excuses for a little chit chat. We’re fundamentally and undeniably social primates: our ability to perceive our own emotions requires a social environment. The internal narrative that we tell ourselves is shaped by other people, through comparisons, with observations, by the contrasts and disparities and similarities that we’re forever witnessing, stumbling into, and learning from, which means that you’re compelled to remember the most crucial conversations of your life because they make you, in some ways, human.