What does it mean to listen to ourselves?
I recently reread Parker Palmer's brilliant and deep Let Your Life Speak. It's a small little book; it looks quite unassuming. But it is so full of wisdom that it can take as long to read as a much longer book, and it deserves the time.
It deals with many topics and themes I could talk about, but one that really resonated with me upon my revisit was the idea of listening to ourselves. Parker says,
"I sometimes lead retreats, and from time to time participants show me the notes they are taking as the retreat unfolds. The pattern is nearly universal: people take copious notes on what the retreat leader says, and they sometimes take notes on the words of certain wise people in the group, but rarely, if ever, do they take notes on what they themselves say. We listen for guidance everywhere except from within."
As a writer who often does record or take notes on what I read or what others say, this passage caught my attention. In school we are conditioned to value the knowledge of others, which can only be acquired from approved sources, and must be given proper attribution. We aren't trained how to think for ourselves, to trust our own judgment--much less to express our evaluations or articulate our beliefs. I think we can internalize this training, and the result is that we often regard others' opinions more highly than our own. We think everyone else is more experienced or expert than we are. We undervalue our own perspective.
Parker goes on to suggest a remedy:
"I urge my retreatants to turn their note-taking around, because the words we speak often contain counsel we are trying to give ourselves. We have a strange conceit in our culture that simply because we have said something, we understand what it means! But often we do not--especially when we speak from a deeper place than intellect or ego, speak the kind of words that arise when the inner teacher feels safe enough to tell the truth. At those moments, we need to listen to what our lives are saying and take notes on it, lest we forget our own truth or deny that we ever heard it."
What would it look like if we took this recommendation literally? To listen to ourselves with the same attention, curiosity, and respect we would afford someone we assume is wise, someone we admire? To take notes on what we say?
I had a chance to practice this already. I love theatre, especially musicals, and my amazing mom gifted me with tickets for The Book of Mormon, which I attended with a friend last Wednesday. It was one of the best shows I have ever seen. I spent the next two days listening to the soundtrack and raving about it to everyone I talked to. On Friday, I was telling someone how great it was and I said, "I want to see it again."
Rather than being deaf to myself, I actually listened to my own words. I realized that I truly would love to see it again. I immediately looked up the dates--Sunday was the last day it was playing. I looked up tickets and was able to find one for the Saturday matinee. I bought it. I went to the show a second time--by myself--and loved it even more. If I hadn't listened to myself, I would have missed out.
I recently reread Parker Palmer's brilliant and deep Let Your Life Speak. It's a small little book; it looks quite unassuming. But it is so full of wisdom that it can take as long to read as a much longer book, and it deserves the time.
It deals with many topics and themes I could talk about, but one that really resonated with me upon my revisit was the idea of listening to ourselves. Parker says,
"I sometimes lead retreats, and from time to time participants show me the notes they are taking as the retreat unfolds. The pattern is nearly universal: people take copious notes on what the retreat leader says, and they sometimes take notes on the words of certain wise people in the group, but rarely, if ever, do they take notes on what they themselves say. We listen for guidance everywhere except from within."
As a writer who often does record or take notes on what I read or what others say, this passage caught my attention. In school we are conditioned to value the knowledge of others, which can only be acquired from approved sources, and must be given proper attribution. We aren't trained how to think for ourselves, to trust our own judgment--much less to express our evaluations or articulate our beliefs. I think we can internalize this training, and the result is that we often regard others' opinions more highly than our own. We think everyone else is more experienced or expert than we are. We undervalue our own perspective.
Parker goes on to suggest a remedy:
"I urge my retreatants to turn their note-taking around, because the words we speak often contain counsel we are trying to give ourselves. We have a strange conceit in our culture that simply because we have said something, we understand what it means! But often we do not--especially when we speak from a deeper place than intellect or ego, speak the kind of words that arise when the inner teacher feels safe enough to tell the truth. At those moments, we need to listen to what our lives are saying and take notes on it, lest we forget our own truth or deny that we ever heard it."
What would it look like if we took this recommendation literally? To listen to ourselves with the same attention, curiosity, and respect we would afford someone we assume is wise, someone we admire? To take notes on what we say?
I had a chance to practice this already. I love theatre, especially musicals, and my amazing mom gifted me with tickets for The Book of Mormon, which I attended with a friend last Wednesday. It was one of the best shows I have ever seen. I spent the next two days listening to the soundtrack and raving about it to everyone I talked to. On Friday, I was telling someone how great it was and I said, "I want to see it again."
Rather than being deaf to myself, I actually listened to my own words. I realized that I truly would love to see it again. I immediately looked up the dates--Sunday was the last day it was playing. I looked up tickets and was able to find one for the Saturday matinee. I bought it. I went to the show a second time--by myself--and loved it even more. If I hadn't listened to myself, I would have missed out.
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