Listening Lesson #2: Stop Talking (Yes, Really)

The hardest skill in listening is also the first one

Mute. Zip it. Shush. Stop talking.

Cork it. Can it. Hush your face.

Shut it. Silence. Not a word. Close your pie hole.

Hold your tongue. Pipe down. Keep mum.

I wrote that poem for my listening classes because it makes students laugh and then makes them uncomfortable. Because here's the truth we all know but hate to admit:

The biggest obstacle to listening is our own mouth.

The Interruption Epidemic

Count how many times you interrupt someone today. Not aggressive interruptions—those are easy to spot. I'm talking about the subtle ones:

• Finishing someone's sentence because you "know what they mean"

• Jumping in with "Oh, that reminds me of when I..."

• Offering solutions before they've finished explaining the problem

• Making affirming sounds that are really just you waiting for your turn

We do this constantly. We think we're being helpful, engaged, collaborative. We're actually stealing the speaker's moment.

Why We Can't Shut Up

There are psychological reasons we struggle with silence:

We're uncomfortable with pauses. Silence feels awkward, so we fill it. But pauses are where thinking happens, where the speaker gathers their thoughts, where meaning emerges.

We want to prove we understand. Jumping in with our own story feels like connection: "I get you! This happened to me too!" But what the speaker hears is: "Enough about you, let's talk about me."

We're preparing our response. While they're talking, we're mentally rehearsing what we'll say next. We're hearing words, but we're not listening to meaning.

We think we already know. The speaker gets three words in and we've diagnosed the problem, formulated the solution, and we're just waiting for them to finish so we can share our brilliance.

The Athletic Lesson

I learned this the hard way as a track coach.

A high jumper came to me mid-season, clearly frustrated. She started to explain what was wrong with her approach, and I immediately jumped in—I'd seen the problem in practice, I knew exactly what to fix, I had the solution ready.

She went quiet. Nodded. Walked away.

Her jumping got worse.

Two weeks later, I tried again. This time, I shut up. I asked her what she was experiencing and then, this was the hard part, I closed my mouth and listened. Really listened. For three full minutes, I didn't say a word.

What she needed to tell me had nothing to do with her approach steps. It was about fear. About a bad landing earlier in the season. About how her body tensed up at a specific moment because she was protecting herself from a repeat injury.

I would never have known if I hadn't stopped talking.

She went on to win the district championship.

The Practice

Here's your challenge for today: Have one conversation where you don't interrupt. Not once.

Choose someone, a colleague, student, family member, friend. Ask them a genuine question. Then: Stop. Talking.

• Don't finish their sentences

• Don't jump in with your story

• Don't offer solutions unless they ask

• Let pauses happen

• Focus entirely on their words, their tone, their body language

It will feel unnatural. You'll want to contribute. Your brilliant insights will be burning in your brain. Hold your tongue.

What Silence Creates

When you truly stop talking, something remarkable happens: The speaker goes deeper. They move past the surface answer to what they actually need to say. They process as they speak. They trust you with more vulnerable truths.

And you? You learn things you never would have known. You understand in ways that weren't possible when your mouth was running.

Mute. Zip it. Shush. Stop talking.

It's the first skill in listening. It's also the hardest.

Your turn: Tell me about a time when someone really let you speak without interruption. How did it feel? What did you share that you might not have if they'd jumped in sooner?

Tomorrow: "Listening Lesson #3: Breathe (The Forgotten Preparation)"

Dr. Tom Lobaugh teaches communication, listening, and ethics at Boise State University, where his listening seminars are known for making people uncomfortable in the best possible way. His former high jumpers will tell you: Coach Tom knew when to talk and when to shut up. Learn more at tomlobaugh.com

Listening Lesson #1: The Gift of Being Heard

A new daily series exploring what it means to truly listen.

There's a distinction I make in every class I teach, and it changes how students think about communication forever:

Listening is not the same as hearing.

Hearing is passive. It's the sound waves hitting your eardrums. It happens whether you want it to or not. Right now, you're hearing the hum of your refrigerator, the distant traffic, the ambient noise of wherever you are. You didn't choose it. It just is.

Listening is active. It's a choice. It requires focus, intention, and here's the part we often forget, it requires preparation.

The Courtroom Test

I often ask my students to imagine a courtroom. In healthy, progressive legal systems, there's a fundamental right: the right to be heard. Not just the right to speak—the right to be truly heard by others who are actively listening.

Think about that distinction. Anyone can talk. We do it constantly, filling air with words. But being heard? That's rare. That's sacred. That's the gift we give when we choose to listen.

When someone is heard, really heard, something shifts. They stand a little taller. Their voice strengthens. They feel valued, seen, worthy of attention. In a courtroom, being heard can mean justice. In a classroom, it can mean discovery. In a relationship, it can mean healing.

The 45% We Ignore

Here's a sobering statistic: Adults spend about 45% of their communication time listening. That's more than speaking (30%), reading (16%), or writing (9%) combined.

Yet how much time did we spend learning to listen? We had years of reading instruction. We wrote countless papers. We gave speeches. But listening? Most of us just assumed we knew how.

We don't.

Tomorrow's Lesson

Over the next weeks, I'll share specific skills that transform hearing into listening. We'll explore what it means to:

• Stop talking (harder than it sounds)

• Prepare your mind and body for a listening experience

• Focus on the speaker and this moment

• Make someone feel like the most important person in the world

Today, I want you to notice the difference.

Pay attention to when you're merely hearing, sound washing over you while you think about your response, your to-do list, your own stories. Then notice those rare moments when you truly listen, when someone has your full attention and they know it.

The question for today: Who needs the gift of being heard from you?

Not just hearing their words while you scroll your phone or plan your reply. Listening, leaning in, making eye contact, being fully present with them in that moment.

It might be a student struggling to articulate a question. An athlete trying to explain why they're off their game. A colleague dealing with something difficult. Your child telling you about their day.

The gift of being heard costs you nothing but attention. And it might change everything.

What's one moment this week when you felt truly heard? Or when you wish someone had really listened to you? Share in the comments, I'm listening.

Next in the series: "Listening Lesson #2: Stop Talking (Yes, Really)"

Dr. Tom Lobaugh teaches communication, listening, and ethics at Boise State University, coached high school track and field for 15 years, and is completing his PhD in Psychology with an emphasis in Performance. Learn more about his work in hospitality, humor research, and leadership at tomlobaugh.com

Living Dialogue: What Happens Next?

When the conversation doesn't end with the series.

Five days ago, I started writing about something that's been haunting me: the finality of death and the urgency of dialogue while we're still living.

I wrote about the young pastor and political activist I never engaged with. The empty chairs in my classroom. The difference between true revival and false martyrdom. The lost art of beautiful arguments. And finally, the simple, radical choice we have each day: to listen, speak, and repeat.

Then I hit "publish" on that last post and sat with an unexpected question: What now?

The Responses

Some of you reached out privately. Others liked. A few just said, "Keep going."

One colleague wrote: "This made me think about my own avoided conversations. I'm not ready to have them yet, but at least I'm aware now."

A former student: "The empty chairs post wrecked me. I'm a teacher now. I get it."

A parent: "I argued with my teenager last night. A real argument. It was uncomfortable and honest and... it was good. Thank you."

These responses remind me why I write: not to have all the answers, but to create space for the questions that matter.

The Threads That Continue

"Living Dialogue" was about urgency—the conversations we're putting off, the people we're not engaging, the time we think we have but might not.

And here's what I'm realizing: urgency alone isn't enough. We need skills. We need practice. We need to know how to have those difficult, beautiful, transformative conversations. That's where I'm headed next.

What's Coming

Starting tomorrow, I'm launching a new series: "Listening Lessons."

Because before we can have meaningful dialogue, we have to learn to truly listen. Not just hear, listen. There's a massive difference, and most of us were never taught the distinction.

These won't be heavy, philosophical posts like "Living Dialogue." They'll be practical, skill-focused, sometimes uncomfortable lessons drawn from:

• My communication and ethics classrooms

• Coaching track and field

• Businesses and non-profit work

• Countless conversations that went well (and many that didn't)

• My ongoing research on how we actually connect with each other

Each post will give you one specific skill or insight you can practice that day. Real tools for real conversations.

And I Need Your Help

Before I dive in, I want to know:

What resonated with you from "Living Dialogue"? Was it the urgency? The specific stories? The challenge to engage across differences?

What conversations are you still avoiding? You don't have to name names, but what's the pattern? Political differences? Family conflicts? Professional disagreements? Personal hurt?

What stops you from engaging? Fear of conflict? Not knowing what to say? Worried about making things worse? Just... exhausted?

Your answers will help me write what you actually need, not just what I think sounds good.

The Invitation

"Living Dialogue" was about recognizing that the dead can't change, but the living can.

"Listening Lessons" is about learning how to change, how to engage, how to listen, how to have those beautiful arguments that might just transform us all.

The empty chairs are still empty. The avoided conversations are still avoided. But tomorrow morning, we wake up with choices the dead no longer possess.

Let's learn how to use them well.

Tomorrow: "Listening Lesson #1: The Gift of Being Heard"

Drop a comment or send me a message. I'm genuinely curious what brought you to these posts and what you're taking away. And if "Living Dialogue" made you think of someone who needs to read it, share it. These conversations matter.

Dr. Tom Lobaugh teaches communication and ethics at Boise State University, coached high school track and field for 20 years, and is completing his PhD in Psychology with an emphasis in Performance. Learn more at tomlobaugh.com

Living Dialogue: Listen. Speak. Repeat.

Every morning, we wake up with choices the dead no longer possess.

We can choose to listen before we speak. We can choose to engage rather than dismiss. We can choose to see potential for growth in others rather than writing them off as irredeemable.

This doesn't mean accepting harmful ideologies or staying silent in the face of injustice. It means recognizing that change happens through relationship—through the patient work of building understanding across difference.

Some people genuinely aren't ready for reasoned conversation. Mental illness requires professional care, not debate. True extremism that refuses all reason requires different approaches. But for most people in our lives, there's potential for meaningful exchange.

Start small. Ask a genuine question. Share a personal story. Find one point of common ground. Listen. Really listen to understand rather than to win.

The dead can no longer change, grow, or love more deeply. The living can.

The question is: will we?

Your move.

Living Dialogue: The False Revival - Why Martyrdom Misses the Point

In the aftermath of loss, we face a dangerous temptation: turning the dead into symbols rather than remembering them as complex human beings.

I've watched people attempt to martyrize various religious and political figures, using deaths to fuel anger and division. This feels like righteous anger to some, like Jesus overturning tables in the temple. But there's a crucial difference.

Authentic righteous anger seeks justice and liberation for the oppressed. What I often see instead is anger that seeks to oppress others, anger rooted in fear and hatred rather than love and justice.

Real revival sets people free. It builds communities, bridges differences, and creates space for everyone to flourish. False revival builds walls, excludes "others," and demands conformity through force rather than invitation.

You can tell the difference by looking at the fruits: Does this movement increase love, understanding, and human dignity? Or does it increase fear, division, and dehumanization?

History shows us that movements built on hatred ultimately fail. They may gain temporary power, but they cannot sustain themselves because they're built on destruction rather than creation.

True transformation comes from the grassroots up, person by person, conversation by conversation. It's slower work, and it lasts.

Living Dialogue: Empty Chairs in My Classroom

Every semester, as I prepare my syllabus and arrange desks, I think about the students I'll never meet.

Young people whose lives were cut short by gun violence. Bright minds that should be challenging my assumptions, asking difficult questions, contributing fresh perspectives to our discussions. Instead, there are empty chairs and unrealized potential.

I imagine families across the country who sent their children off to school one morning, never knowing it would be the last conversation they'd have. Parents who will never get to see their kids graduate, start careers, or become the adults they were meant to be.

This isn't just individual tragedy, it's collective loss. Our society loses voices, perspectives, and solutions we desperately need. Every classroom shooting doesn't just end lives; it steals possibilities from all of us.

As educators, we must acknowledge this reality while continuing to invest fully in the students who are still here. We teach not just curriculum, but hope and the belief that learning, growing, and engaging across differences can create a better world.

The empty chairs remind us: education is both privilege and responsibility. We must make every conversation count.

Living Dialogue: Oh F*ck, I Can't" - When Death Ends the Conversation

Death has a brutal finality that we don't fully grasp until it's too late. The conversation just... stops.

I think about a young-adult pastor and political activist who had significant influence over young people. His theology and approach troubled me deeply. His messages often struck me as negative and divisive, completely at odds with what I believe faith should represent. While he lived, I had opportunities I never took: I could have reached out, could have said, "Hey, maybe kindness and tone of voice matter more than you think."

Now I can't. That opportunity is gone forever.

This isn't about agreeing with someone's ideology—it's about recognizing that death removes all possibility for growth, change, or understanding. The dead can't learn. They can't apologize. They can't become better versions of themselves.

The living can.

Who in your life do you disagree with but haven't engaged meaningfully? What conversations are you putting off? The uncomfortable truth is this: one day, those conversations may no longer be possible.

The dead can't change. The living can. What are you waiting for?

Listening to Yourself

Phones off, No distractions. Try it once a day. Total time for the steps is 25 minutes.

• 5-7 deep breaths. Feet on the floor. Shoulders relaxing.

• Being Completely Quiet for 5-6 minutes: This is more difficult than you think. This is a time of letting the things of your mind subside, the lists and even ideas of what needs to be done let them go. If you can work up to 10 minutes that is healthy and good.

These next steps take 3 - 5 minutes each

• First question: What am I most concerned about in this moment? What am I most joyful about in this moment? What am thankful for in this moment?

• Write down, pen and paper, no phone, any answers or ideas as to what needs to be done to move the concerned to a place of peace or an ok-ness for you. If there is nothing, that's fine. Write down what comes to mind about joyful and thankful.

• Ask what needs my attention? Listen for the answers and write them down, even if it do not make sense. Put away the paper.

• Breathe 5-7 more times. Read your answers right away, and then later that day.