Listening through Layers

What Tara Brach, dinner with a friend, and filmmaking taught me about my layer cake of wanting and how it impacts true listening

If I Knew You Were Coming by Kerri Rosenthal

Early in my career, I worked for an HR executive who told me whenever he interviewed someone for a position, he paid far more attention to how well they listened than to what they actually said. Being 20-something, with little life experience, I remember thinking, How can you get the job if you don’t talk about yourself? He can’t be hiring people for their silence.

But I’ve never forgotten his words, and they surfaced again recently as I listened to Tara Brach’s podcast episode The Sacred Art of Listening. She asks, “What happens when you’re really listening?” Good question. If I were a skilled listener, I would know the answer. Tara goes on to explain that really, truly, deeply listening creates “open space to awake” – without all the “selfing” that gets in the way. I thought about how often my selfing takes over my conversations. How often do I really listen?

Then she talks about all the “layers of wanting” that block our ability to listen – wanting the other person to experience you in a certain way, to give you approval, or wanting to prove, solve or accomplish something, wanting the conversation to go in a particular direction. I heard her list each interfering want and examined my own motivations. I pile all of those layers on my platters of conversation like a towering cake. I may even top the whole thing with an iced layer of wanting to wrap up so I can move on to other things.

Sometimes, my layer cake feels like it should be helpful. After all, I strive to be useful and lift others up, to do God’s will and connect with others through love. When it comes to listening, my ego has subtle ways of convincing me I’m not really selfing, I’m helping.

I had dinner out with a good friend many months ago. Our husbands were out of town doing something manly together, and we decided to have a ladies night. I remember my friend telling me about several things she was dealing with – issues with her job, with their house, life challenges that strike at all of us.

I also remember my compulsion to “advise” her on every issue. After all, I read a lot of philosophical and spiritual books. I study A Course in Miracles. I strive to be helpful. But mostly, I forget that I’m actually not an authority on anything, certainly not on another person’s life or what she should do differently.

My ego told me I was being a sage companion to whom she could turn. Wine certainly didn’t stifle my compulsion to talk at her, talk over her, talk through her. I left feeling helpful and energized by our exchange. Full of myself and my layer cake of satisfied wants. The next day, I sent her a message thanking her for such a lovely evening, assuming mutual enjoyment of course. But something nibbled at the back of my brain like a fish on the line. Tug, tug. Had it really been enjoyable for her? Tug, tug. She didn’t write back that it had. She didn’t write back about dinner at all.

A day later, I remember walking around the grocery store, replaying the evening in my head. Somewhere between the bread and international food aisles, the self-satisfied haze shrouding my version of that evening began to dissipate. That layer cake landed heavy in my stomach. I pulled my shopping cart to the side and stopped. What a poor listener I’d been. Too busy crafting my wise responses to exhibit any depth of awareness. Sure, I heard her say words, explain her troubles. I felt concern for her and her challenges. I wanted to hear about them and help her through them. But I barreled right over what she actually needed with all my eager advice.

And not once did I ask God, “What would You have me say or do?” I know what the response would have been. Stop focusing on your own layers, so you can listen with your whole being.

My friend didn’t tell me her stories that night so I could rewrite them for her. She didn’t need my suggestions or sagacity. I sent her another message, apologizing for my jackassity at dinner. I’d served her a generous slice of my layer cake of wanting rather than create open space for her. She acknowledged it had felt invalidating to have me jump to what she should be doing more of or differently as she shared her concerns. She also graciously gave me credit for trying to be helpful, for my wanting to ease her suffering. But I suddenly felt the acute uncomfortableness of so many similarly crowded conversations. I thanked her for her honesty and let her know I would use this incident going forward to change how I listened to her and others.

In many conversations since that dinner, I have thought of her and how I behaved. It spurs me to stretch out my silences and deepen my awareness. Sometimes, it’s all I can do to physically close my mouth to keep my advice, observations, comparisons, and wisecracks from spilling out. The sacred art of listening eludes me much of the time, but more and more, I approach my interactions with genuine intent to talk less, give more open space, and stop dishing out my layer cake of wanting.  

I had the chance to put this learning into practice not long ago on a documentary film about one of our non-profit clients. As a producer, I got to help conduct the interviews. Having done this many times, our award-winning filmmaker Andrew Krakower gave me two pieces of critical advice for interviewing. One, it’s okay to be the stupidest person in the room – they’re not here to experience how smart I am. And two, don’t fill the silence – give them space. They’ll reveal the most compelling stories in between the planned questions.

I took his advice to heart and brought an entirely different level of listening awareness to those interviews. As a result, we captured some deeply beautiful and raw moments on camera that never would have happened if I’d acted like I did at dinner with my friend.

People who listen skillfully draw from a well of quiet confidence that only comes from moving beyond the layers of wanting, where we can dwell with divine presence. When we truly listen, we communicate being to being. We worry so much about saying the right thing, when more often, we don’t need to say anything. We just need to be. That open space we create empowers others to answer their own questions, heal their own suffering, awaken and ripple out their own loving awareness. Maybe that’s why my former HR exec looked for listeners. He understood their power.

Tara’s podcast reinforced for me the importance of continuing to work at being a better, deeper listener – and the importance of keeping my layers to the ones I can bake.

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