Most people do not listen with the intent to understand. Most people listen with the intent to reply.
~ Steven R. Covey
This is not my favorite time of the year. Television stations suspend normal programming to present sentimental holiday movies and specials; radio airwaves spew a steady stream of crooners fantasizing about talking snowmen and roasting chestnuts. Shoppers increase their debt levels and engage in moronic behavior while pursuing the latest must-haves advertisers have persuaded them they cannot live without. Perfect becomes the adjective de jour: perfect hostess, perfect party, perfect meal, perfect gift... Visual and auditory sensations become overwhelming noise, a tornado of commotion inflating expectations and waistlines, and only the latter isn't deflated when the hoopla dies down.
The holiday issues of women's and health magazines are full of advice on how to minimize stress during this time of year, and the most recurring suggestion is listen to your breath. This idea isn't new; anyone who's practiced yoga knows that sitting still with closed eyes and slowly breathing in and out while focusing on the sound of the breath is powerfully relaxing. It's the antithesis of multi-tasking (a "skill" that research has proven is physically impossible.)
Our pastor suggested a different approach: listen to the noise. Huh? Before I could tune him out, he explained he could hear love in the voice of a shopping mom debating which color sweater her teenager would prefer. He could hear the joy in children laughing as they make Christmas ornaments; he could hear hope and optimism in the words of traditional carols.
If I listen to my heart, I understand the commercialism and materialism which seem to dominate the holidays conflict with my pursuit of a simpler, less cluttered life. At a time when people decorate every corner with lights and color, fill the air with fa-la-la-la-las, heap piles of wrapped items under trees, and indulge in a foodfest of sweet and savory treats, I crave order. I need space, serene colors, soft sounds. I fear derailing my progress toward getting healthier; I fear accumulating more things to replace those I've systematically been letting go of. I do want to be able to enjoy this special time of year, but I don't want to be consumed by it.
Our pastor suggested a different approach: listen to the noise. Huh? Before I could tune him out, he explained he could hear love in the voice of a shopping mom debating which color sweater her teenager would prefer. He could hear the joy in children laughing as they make Christmas ornaments; he could hear hope and optimism in the words of traditional carols.
If I listen to my heart, I understand the commercialism and materialism which seem to dominate the holidays conflict with my pursuit of a simpler, less cluttered life. At a time when people decorate every corner with lights and color, fill the air with fa-la-la-la-las, heap piles of wrapped items under trees, and indulge in a foodfest of sweet and savory treats, I crave order. I need space, serene colors, soft sounds. I fear derailing my progress toward getting healthier; I fear accumulating more things to replace those I've systematically been letting go of. I do want to be able to enjoy this special time of year, but I don't want to be consumed by it.
www.sodahead.com This week while Mother Nature hammered most of the country with arctic temperatures, ice, and snow, she gifted Central Florida with atypically warm, sunny weather. It's not the climate native Floridians prefer for Christmas, but it inspired me - a northern transplant - to sit in a chair by the community pool, close my eyes, and listen. As I focused, sounds separated: rumbling trucks on the highway, palm leaves clicking against each other in the breeze, several different bird songs, the squeak of the opening fence gate and clang as it closed. All are sounds that are there every day, but I don't usually hear them.
I think this season I will celebrate by listening - to others, to the noise, to the quiet. Let the understanding begin.
I think this season I will celebrate by listening - to others, to the noise, to the quiet. Let the understanding begin.
