To understand before being understood

I grew up thinking that the point of resolving an argument was to prove myself right. 

It didn’t matter if it was about the date of the Civil War’s termination or if morals should be viewed as black or white, I was always under the impression that when I was disagreeing with someone, I was compelled to win. 

And winning meant that I was right.

And my intelligence and worthiness depended on it.

In this way, I barely had many true conversations; I was really speaking to someone about something that upset me, so that I could feel better about myself. It was their rebuttal that triggered my initial anger but, after that moment, it stopped being about the other person.  My determination to keep speaking until I convinced the other person they were wrong was purely for my benefit. It made me feel intelligent and bright -like I had accomplished something. 

So, the other day when my dad and I got into a quarrel I did what I usually did: I kept speaking until I felt I had emptied my tank. Because this would make me feel good, right?

And not for a second did I think about whether my Dad understood where I was coming from; I was speaking at him, not to him. And, in this way, I hadn’t influenced the way my dad thought about the situation or increased his respect for me in the slightest. All I had done was please the narcissist in me.

Our relationship in no way would change from this. 

And what was missing was something we were taught to do when we were younger but grew to believe was unnecessary with age: to listen. 

Granted, when we were younger we listened to authority with the belief that they knew better than us. So we listened, followed their words, abided by their rules. And for this we were deemed ‘disciplined.’

Then, we grew older, and we started to understand that authoritative figures are neither perfect nor always fair. We were taught that George Washington, for example, had denchers made of wood...it turns out that they were in fact made from the teeth of slaves. Someone who always marked the beginning of our American History textbooks with a sense of pride was ,in fact, flawed. 

And, as we began to learn of these flaws in all kinds of people, we started to treat others and their words with a level of skepticism. 

Moreover, we also became prone to becoming arrogant.

Rather than considering that we could in fact be wrong or bothering to fact check something we find suspicious, we suspect that beliefs that stray from our own are false.

In many ways, this habit proves supremely beneficial and oftentimes wise; we avoid falling for people’s lies, we grow out of a naive trust-anything-anyone-says mindset, and, most importantly, we start to think for ourselves. 

We find our voice, become more confident in our opinions, and grow to be sure of our beliefs. 

And showing how your voice, opinions, or beliefs are worthy of listening to is often our source of validation as an intelligent person. Whether it was advocating for a singular viewpoint in socratic seminars in highschool, writing persuasive essays early on in elementary school, or posting declarative, partisan statements on social media for the world to see, we have made it clear that we want our opinions to be heard. And that this is important. 

But, if we continue to believe that the only way to feel intelligent is by convincing others that our beliefs are more accurate or worthy, no one will be convinced. We are all so concerned with maintaining our own beliefs that no one is willing to budge. 

We need to listen. 

And this push towards listening will require a change in how listening is viewed in the context of self-evaluation. We need to change the idea that listening is for the weak lacking opinions.

What I personally struggle with is remembering that shutting up and letting the other person speak doesn’t automatically negate the feelings/ troubles you are facing. 

There is no mutual exclusion.

And beyond worrying about when it is your turn to be understood, it must be emphasized that listening does not mean that you have nothing to say. In fact, it means you have the strength, the openness, and the humbleness to try and understand another side before sharing your own. 

You may not agree with the other side even after you listen, but, oftentimes, I have. Maybe not 100%, but I realized faults in my own ways of thinking, parts of their argument I hadn’t thought of before or found compelling, or admired the way they were able to compose their beliefs. 

Listening doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you are humbly willing to hear the other side, to accept that we, just like the authority we treated as idols, can be and often are flawed, and to adjust your own argument and ideas accordingly. 

Listening takes strength.

I have found this to be particularly pertinent with the current discussion of racism in America.

A few weeks ago, I was confident that my silence wasn’t adding to the problem of inequality and discrimination many blacks face today. Accordingly, social media posts encouraging people to avidly reflect on their biases, unlearn associations we have made between race and status, and bring this problem to light with friends and family went in one ear and out the other. 

Because I hadn’t really listened. 

I looked at the topic of the posts, assumed I knew all I needed to know about my contributions to this movement, and felt that I had to prove myself right once again, sure that I was doing enough and that I didn’t need to listen.

Then one day one of my friends revealed a microaggression she had which she hadn’t realized before. I realized that I fell prey to the same one. So, the egotistical, all-knowing side of me took a hit and admitted that perhaps there is a lot more I do not know and is worth learning about. 

So I began to read news articles, follow social media accounts, watch videos, have discussions with my family and friends and I learned. 

I am a better, wiser human being because I listened. 

When I remembered this lesson, I returned to my dad 20 minutes after our fight and thought to myself, let me stop presuming that I did nothing wrong. Let me try and see where he is coming from. Let me try and understand his side and, unlike my initial yelling, this would allow him to feel understood and cared for and me to learn of my habits that were unknowingly causing him pain. 

So I challenge all of you to treat the act of listening as a sign of strength and willingness to learn and to not let arrogance get in the way of growth; to try to understand and then be understood.