Posted on July 12th, 2008 by admin

1. Give the storyteller a chance. He is telling you about the garage door having slipped its hinges and demolished three bicycles and a Volkswagen. You’re apt to lunge in instantly with your own garage-door story or, worse, the merits of Volkswagens versus Audis people slippy-slide so from subject to subject before the storyteller is halfway to his finish line! Do let him complete his little story—everything—before you pitch in. It takes guts not to contribute instantly—”Yes, I was in Cozumel myself” or “My cousin was in his class at Princeton,” but the storyteller doesn’t need your input. Later, when he seems to be winding down, you slip it in.
2. If the talker is temporarily interrupted—the waiter brings a drink, the hostess stops by to chat—get right back to where you were and don’t let the interruption act as a signal to change subjects. You say, “And so then the IRS people landed in your office,” or “So you were at the bottom of the Kimberley Mines” . . . don’t even mention the interruption.
3. When the story seems to be over, don’t think for a moment it is over—the teller probably still has a few thousand more words to deliver if you’ll let him; almost nobody lets anybody go on long enough. Think about the last time somebody let you talk yourself to pieces about your first bicycle or the day you locked yourself out of the apartment in a snowstorm . . . you can talk but who’s listening?! Let the person really exhaust his subject and I guarantee you are going to be known as one “terrific conversationalist.” I’ve heard that said about me many times and as a longtime, lethal, stay-with-them-to-the-death listener, I know it’s a way for a mouse-burger to endear herself.
4. If you don’t quite get the hang of what somebody has said or, frankly, your attention has wandered, ask him to repeat it . . . “Could you explain that to me again?” People love to do that-start from the ground up . . . gives them a chance to be even more brilliant and you a chance to collect your thoughts.
5. Trust your instincts about subject matter. Sometimes people are dying to tell you about wild unhappiness in their lives . . . the divorce, getting fired, first-degree gout—and other times it’s the last subject that ought to come up. Don’t necessarily not introduce the ugly stuff . . . get the feel.
6. Try to relax as you listen and just absorb. This is difficult when your companion impresses the hell out of you and you want to be brilliant; with somebody like that you almost can’t keep from thinking ahead to what you’re going to say when he stops but if you can absorb what he’s saying right down to your bone marrow, that’s the kind of listening that “gets” them. Of course, if you know you’re going to see somebody important or famous, come armed with material to talk about and, yes, complete relaxation is probably out of the question.
7. Be modest. You do what we called in Chapter Two “keeping two sets of books”—the private one in which is recorded truth—your real worth—and the public one which is seemingly modest—only seemingly. Don’t worry, you get the good news about you across . . . you just slide it in when appropriate. God forbid your friends—and enemies—shouldn’t know the good stuff, but you don’t bash them on the head (”They loved my speech at the USC journalism school” or “Phil and I have never been happier—that man really loves me”) . When you sit next to an important man at dinner (you know me, I’m hooked), they frequently barely open their mouths about what they do . . . you have to pry it out. I suppose men in that league could feel it beneath them to be questioned by a little sparrow, but I never ran into one who minded.
8. For special people, keep a dossier of what they tell you—names of children, family members, countries visited, committees served on, jobs held—so you don’t keep asking the same dumb questions every time you meet. People are happy, if incredulous, when you recall that Sandra Jane, their beloved eldest, wrote a treatise on liturgical music in the twelfth century during her sophomore year at Skidmore or that his first job was selling papers for the Toledo Blade. How are you possibly going to remember all these (fascinating?! ) things about every person you talk to without help? I have notes on about fifty people. Jot them down the minute you get home (or back to the office); consult before next meeting.

Tags: Friendship, to be a good listener