Listening Lesson #14: Work (Listening When There’s No Time)

You don’t need more minutes. You need better ones.

Every professor knows the doorway question.

Class ends. Bags zip. Everyone heads out.

Except one student, who hangs back, waits for the room to clear, and says:

“Hey, quick question.”

It’s never a quick question.

It’s usually the real one. The one they couldn’t ask in front of thirty people. Sometimes it’s not about the reading at all. It’s “I don’t know if I belong here.”

And it always comes when I’m packing up, already late for the next thing.

The Myth of No Time

Here’s what we tell ourselves at work: I’d listen better if I had more time.

I don’t buy it.

Most of us don’t have a time problem. We have an attention problem.

We give people twenty minutes of half-listening. Eyes drifting to the screen. Nodding while writing an email in our heads.

They leave feeling like an interruption. And we lose the twenty minutes anyway.

Half-listening is the worst deal there is. You spend the time and don’t earn the trust.

Coaches, you know this one. The athlete walks up while you’re setting hurdles: “Coach, can I talk to you?” Say “not now” with your back turned, and she hears “not ever.”

Two Honest Options

When someone needs you and you’re slammed, you have two honest choices.

Full attention, even briefly. Set the bag down. Turn toward them. “I’ve got five minutes, and they’re yours.” That’s Lesson #4: honesty plus presence equals trust.

A real time later. Not “let’s catch up sometime.” That’s a polite no. Say this instead: “I want to give this my full attention. Can we talk at 3:00?” Then show up at 3:00.

What doesn’t work is the third option: pretending to listen while you’re somewhere else.

One Question That Saves Hours

“Do you need me to listen, or do you need me to help?”

Half the time, they just need to be heard. You don’t have to solve it. You don’t have to schedule a meeting.

You just have to be there for two minutes.

The Practice

The next time someone catches you at the wrong moment, stop. Pick one: full attention now, or a real time later.

No half-listening.

Then watch how much time you get back.

Your turn: What’s your version of the doorway question? Where do people catch you when you’re busiest? Tell me in the comments. I’m listening.

Tomorrow: “Listening Lesson #15: Home (Where Listening Matters Most)”

— Tom Lobaugh | tomlobaugh.com

Listening Lesson #13: Grief (Sitting With What Can’t Be Fixed)

The hardest conversations don’t need your answers

Someone you care about just lost something they can’t get back.

And you have no idea what to say.

So, you say something anyway.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“At least she isn’t suffering anymore.”

“I know how you feel.”

We mean well. We really do.

Most of what we say in grief isn’t for them. It’s for us. Their pain is uncomfortable, and words make us feel useful.

What Hospice Taught Me

For five years I worked as a grief counselor with hospice families. Before that, I spent decades as a pastor, sitting at bedsides and in living rooms after the funeral.

Here’s what those rooms taught me: Nobody ever thanked me for the perfect thing I said.

They thanked me for staying.

For sitting in the kitchen while the coffee went cold. For letting the silence run long. For not flinching at the angry thing, or the strange thing, or the thing they’d never told anyone.

Grief doesn’t need to be fixed. It needs company.

The Two Most Dangerous Words

“At least.”

At least you had her for 40 years. At least it was quick. At least there’s next season.

“At least” shrinks someone’s pain to a size we can handle. What the griever hears is: your pain is too big for me.

Drop those two words, and you’re already a better listener than most.

Coaches, You See This Too

The senior whose career ends with a torn ACL. The athlete who gets cut. The team that loses in the final.

That’s grief too. Same rules. Don’t rush to the comeback story.

Sit with them first.

What Helps

Say their person’s name. People stop saying it, and the griever notices. “Tell me about your dad” is one of the kindest sentences there is.

Let them repeat themselves. Grief tells the same story many times. That’s not being stuck. That’s processing.

Remember later. The cards and casseroles stop after two weeks. The grief doesn’t.

And if grief starts sounding like something heavier, Lesson #10 still applies. Presence first. Action when it’s needed.

The Practice

Think of someone who lost something this year.

Put a reminder on your calendar for a few weeks from now. When it pops up, reach out:

“I’ve been thinking about you. How are you doing with it?”

Then listen to the whole answer.

You won’t fix anything.

That was never the job.

Your turn: What’s the most helpful thing someone did for you while you were grieving? Tell me in the comments. I’m listening.

Tomorrow: “Listening Lesson #14: Work (Listening When There’s No Time)”

— Tom Lobaugh | tomlobaugh.com

Listening Lesson #12: Conflict (When You’re the One Who’s Angry)

You can’t listen while you’re reloading

You know the feeling.

Someone says something that lands wrong. Your face gets hot. Your jaw sets. And suddenly you’re nodding along while building your counterargument, brick by brick.

You look like you’re listening.

You’re reloading.

The Meeting That Went Sideways

I spent thirty years leading congregations. If you want a master class in conflict, sit through a church meeting about carpet color, or music, or screens in worship.

Here’s what I learned in those rooms: the angriest person usually wasn’t the problem.

The problem was everyone getting ready to answer them.

Including me.

The moment I felt attacked, my listening shut down. I heard the first sentence, decided what they meant, and spent the rest of the time preparing my rebuttal. I wasn’t hearing a person anymore. I was hearing an opponent. Some of us are taught to be right and others wrong.

And opponents don’t get listened to. They get answered.

Your Body Gets There First

Anger is fast. It hits your body before your brain gets a vote. Heart rate up. Breath short. Shoulders tight. A result of fear and frustration.

That’s why the skills from the first two weeks matter most right here:

Breathe. (Lesson #3) Three breaths aren’t a time-out. They’re how you get your brain back online.

Count. (Lesson #7) Ten seconds of silence feels impossible when you’re angry. That’s exactly why it works.

Ask what, not why. (Lesson #8) “Why would you say that?” is a punch. “What’s going on for you?” is a door.

Say It Back First

Here’s the one move that changed conflict for me:

Before you say what you think, say what you heard.

“Let me make sure I’ve got this. You’re frustrated because…”

Then let them correct you. They usually will. That’s the point.

Two things happen. They calm down, because being understood takes the fuel out of anger. And you calm down, because you can’t summarize someone and fight them at the same time.

You still get your turn. You still get to disagree. Listening isn’t surrender.

But now you’re disagreeing with what they said, not with the version you built while you were reloading.

The Practice

The next time you feel the heat rise in a conversation, notice it. Name it to yourself: I’m reloading. Take one breath.

Then say back what you heard before you say anything else.

That’s it.

You won’t win every argument this way.

And you’ll stop fighting the ones that never needed to happen.

Your turn: What does your body do when you get defensive? Tell me in the comments. I’m listening.

Tomorrow: “Listening Lesson #13: Grief (Sitting With What Can’t Be Fixed)”

— Tom Lobaugh | tomlobaugh.com

Listening Lesson #11: Celebration (Don’t Coach the Victory Lap)

Week 3 starts today. We’ve built the skills. Now we take them into real life: celebration, conflict, grief, work, home.

We’re starting with the one nobody thinks needs practice.

Good news.

The Victory Lap

A high jumper clears a personal best. First time ever over that height.

She pops up out of the pit and sprints straight at me. Grinning. Arms up.

And I say: “Nice. Your plant foot was off, need’s to ge more parallel, though. Fix that and there’s another two inches in there.”

I watched the grin leave her face.

I wasn’t wrong. Her plant foot was off. But she didn’t run over for a technical note. She ran over to share the moment with someone.

I took it and turned it into practice.

We’re Better at Bad News

Here’s what I’ve noticed: most of us listen better when someone is struggling.

Pain tells us to slow down. Lean in. Ask questions.

Joy doesn’t. Joy feels finished. So we answer fast and move on:

“Congrats! So what’s next?” Straight to the next goal.

“That’s great. When I got my PR…” Taking the stage.

“Nice. But…” Coaching the victory lap.

“Cool.” Eyes still on the phone.

None of these are cruel. They’re just quick. And quick tells someone their moment wasn’t worth much of yours.

There’s research behind this, too. How people respond to our good news shapes trust at least as much as how they show up for our bad news.

Listen to the Moment

Celebration uses the same skills as everything else. Stop talking. Lean in. Ask.

“Tell me about it.”

“What was going through your head right before?”

“What did that feel like?”

Then let them relive it. Out loud. With you.

Shared joy gets bigger. When joy gets brushed aside, it gets smaller, and people learn to stop bringing it to you.

The Practice

Today, the next time someone shares good news, skip the next step.

No advice. No next goal. No “but.”

Ask one question about the moment itself. Then listen to the whole answer.

The plant foot can wait until tomorrow.

It took me too long to learn that. The jump came out of a hundred practices. The moment after it belonged to her. My job was to be there for her.

Your turn: Who celebrated with you really well? What did they do? Tell me in the comments. I’m listening.

Tomorrow: “Listening Lesson #12: Conflict (When You’re the One Who’s Angry)”

— Tom Lobaugh | tomlobaugh.com

Welcome to The Ripple

A new chapter in an ongoing conversation

For years, I’ve worked under the banner of Inspire Excellence and helping coaches, educators, athletes, and leaders discover what they’re capable of. The name changed. The work didn’t.

What I’ve always believed, and what drives everything I do, is this: people are not finished. We are always in the process of becoming.

The athlete who finds her voice on the track. The coach who learns to listen before he speaks. The student who discovers that humor isn’t a distraction from serious work is a doorway into it. The leader who realizes that the culture around them is a reflection of who they are becoming.

That’s what The Ripple is about. One conversation, one insight, one honest moment, and the effect spreads outward in ways we rarely get to see.

This blog is a place for that. Reflections on listening. On leadership. On humor and what it reveals about the teams and people we’re becoming. On the small things that turn out to matter most.

I don’t have it all figured out. I’m still becoming too.

Glad you’re here.

Tom

Listen Up: When Listening Isn't Enough (October 17, 2025)

Knowing when to move from attention to action

For nine days, you've been learning to listen.

Today, I'm going to tell you something that might seem like it contradicts everything we've worked on:

Sometimes listening isn't enough. Sometimes it's not even the right thing to do.

This is the hardest lesson. And the most important.

When Listening Becomes Complicity

Here's what I've learned in 30 years of difficult conversations:

There are moments when listening without action is not compassion, it's avoidance.

When a student tells you they're being abused, listening isn't enough. You call authorities.

When an athlete shows signs of an eating disorder, listening isn't enough. You get them to a professional.

When a colleague makes racist comments, listening isn't enough. You name it and challenge it.

When someone is in immediate danger, listening isn't enough. You intervene.

Listening is a powerful tool. But it's not always the right tool.

The Three Questions

Before every difficult conversation, I now ask myself three questions:

1. Is this person safe?

From others? From themselves?

If the answer is no, listening is not your primary responsibility. Safety is.

2. Does this situation require expertise I don't have?

Mental health crisis? Legal issue? Medical emergency?

If yes, listening is step one. Referral to someone qualified is step two.

3. Is my listening creating space for change, or enabling harm to continue?

This is the hardest question.

Sometimes "being there" for someone means they never have to face consequences or get real help.

The Athlete I Had to Confront

Five years into coaching, I had an athlete who was struggling with anxiety and disordered eating. She'd come talk to me. I'd listen. She'd feel better temporarily.

This went on for months.

I told myself I was being supportive. That listening was what she needed.

One day, another coach pulled me aside: "You're not helping her. You're helping her avoid getting professional help. Your listening is enabling her to stay sick."

That gutted me. They were right.

The next time she came to talk, I said, "I care about you. And I can't keep having these conversations without you also seeing a professional. I'm not qualified to help you with this. Please make an appointment with the counselor?"

She was angry. A parent was angry.

She made the appointment. It was the right thing to do.

The Listening-to-Action Continuum

Not every conversation needs action. But you need to know where you are on this continuum:

Level 1: Pure Listening They need to process. Work through thoughts. Be heard. No action required.

What to do: Friend venting about a frustrating day. Your job: Listen.

Level 2: Listening + Reflection They need you to mirror back what you're hearing so they can hear themselves.

What to do: Student unsure about major. Your job: Listen and reflect their own wisdom back to them.

Level 3: Listening + Resources They need information or connection to resources.

What to do: Colleague struggling with work-life balance. Your job: Listen, then share resources if asked.

Level 4: Listening + Direct Feedback They need honesty, even if it's uncomfortable.

What to do: Friend in a destructive relationship. Your job: Listen, then speak truth.

Level 5: Listening + Immediate Action Safety is at risk. Listening alone is insufficient or harmful.

What to do: Someone in crisis. Your job: Listen, then act—call for help, report to authorities, intervene directly.

The Signs You Need to Act

How do you know when to move from listening to action?

Move to action when:

✓ Someone expresses intent to harm themselves or others ✓ You hear about abuse (especially of children or vulnerable adults) ✓ Mental health symptoms are severe and worsening ✓ Addiction is escalating and untreated ✓ They're asking for help but don't know how to access it ✓ Power dynamics make it unsafe for them to act alone ✓ The pattern has repeated many times without change

Stay in listening mode when:

✓ They're processing normally difficult life stuff ✓ They have capacity and resources to act ✓ They need space to figure things out themselves ✓ Your action would disempower them ✓ They're not asking for advice or intervention

The Balance

Here's the tension: We live in a world that over-intervenes and under-listens.

People rush to fix, advise, solve, rescue, and before they've truly heard.

I've spent nine lessons teaching you to listen first. To slow down. To create space. To hear fully.

I don't want to overcorrect so far that you think listening is always the answer.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do after listening is to act.

The Questions to Ask Yourself

After listening, ask:

1. "Is this person safe right now?" If no → act immediately

2. "Is this within my capacity to handle?" If no → refer to someone qualified

3. "Am I the right person for this?" If no → help them find the right person

4. "What does this person actually need from me?" Sometimes it's just listening. Sometimes it's more.

5. "If I do nothing beyond listening, what happens?" If the answer is "harm continues" → you need to act

The Grief Counsel Lesson

In my years doing grief counseling and hospice work, I learned this principle: Presence first. Action when necessary.

Sit with someone in their pain before you try to fix it.

But don't sit so long that you miss the moment when sitting becomes abandonment.

A grieving widow needs you to listen, not to give advice or rush her healing.

A grieving widow who hasn't eaten in days and is talking about "joining them" needs you to act. Get family involved, call her doctor, don't leave her alone.

Same person. Different moments. Different responses. Listening is the foundation. Sometimes you have to build on that foundation.

The Practice

This week's practice is about discernment. Review the important conversations you've had recently.

For each one, ask:

• Was listening enough?

• Should I have done more?

• Did I act when I should have just listened?

• Did I just listen when I should have acted?

Going forward:

• Listen first (always)

• Assess what's actually needed

• Be willing to move beyond listening when the situation requires it

• Don't confuse "being supportive" with "being helpful"

What This Means

You now have ten lessons in listening. You know how to:

1. Distinguish listening from hearing

2. Stop talking

3. Breathe and prepare

4. Focus and remove distractions

5. Lean in with your body

6. Listen for what's not being said

7. Use strategic silence

8. Ask transformative questions

9. Listen across difference

10. Know when listening isn't enough

You've learned to listen. Now learn when to act.

The goal was never just to be a good listener.

The goal is to be a good human, someone who knows when to be present and when to intervene, when to hold space and when to take action.

Listening is powerful. It's not always sufficient. Trust yourself to know the difference.

Next week: Not sure yet. I am gathering data for my PhD in a couple of weeks and that has been time consuming. Maybe we can explore some of those topics. Let me know in the comments, how I can help.

Practice everything you've learned. Notice when you listen well. Notice when you need to move beyond listening.

You're not just learning skills. You're becoming someone who truly sees and hears others.

That matters more than you know.

Weekend Reflection: When has someone listened to you and then acted on your behalf? What did that mean to you? And when have you wished someone would stop just listening and actually do something?

Listening Lesson #4: Focus & Make Them the Most Important Person (October 17, 2025)

The physics of attention: what you place between you matters

I have a rule in my office hours that students find strange at first:

Put your phone away. Not face-down on the table. Away. In your bag, your pocket, another room. Gone.

Laptops closed unless we're looking at something together.

Books and bags off the desk between us.

Nothing but space and attention.

"Why?" a student asked once, clearly annoyed. "I'm not even using it."

"Because," I said, "I want you to know you're the most important person in the world to me right now. And I can't show you that if there's a phone between us."

She paused. Then quietly put her phone in her backpack.

After our conversation, she said: "That's the first time a professor has talked to me without checking their phone. I actually felt like I mattered."

That broke my heart.

And made me more committed than ever to this practice.

The Physics of Distraction

Here's what research tells us, and what I've observed in 25 years of conversations:

The mere presence of a phone—even face-down, even silent—reduces the quality of conversation.

Not because you're using it. Because it's there.

Your brain knows it might buzz. Might light up. Might deliver something more interesting, more urgent, more important than the person in front of you.

The person in front of you knows this too.

And that knowledge changes everything.

What Your Phone Says

When your phone sits on the table during a conversation, here's the message it sends:

"You're important... but not as important as whoever might text me."

"I'm listening... but I'm also ready to be interrupted."

"You have my attention... for now."

We think we're being polite by leaving it face-down. "See? I'm not even looking at it!"

But the person across from you sees something else: an exit strategy. A backup plan. A signal that this conversation is conditional.

The Coaching Field

I learned this lesson on the track, not in a classroom.

Early in my coaching career, I'd stand on the field with my phone in my pocket. Athletes would come talk to me about their jumps, their fears, their struggles.

And sometimes—just sometimes—I'd glance at my phone. Just to check. Just in case.

You know what I noticed?

The athletes who saw me check my phone mid-conversation? They stopped opening up. They gave me surface-level answers. They saved their real questions for another time.

The message I'd sent was clear: You're not important enough to hold my full attention.

I put my phone in my bag after that. Left it in the office. Made a rule: when I'm with athletes, I'm WITH them.

Everything changed.

They trusted me with harder questions. Deeper fears. Real struggles.

Not because I became a better coach.

Because I removed the barrier that told them they weren't worth my full attention.

The Architecture of Listening

I call this "conversational architecture"—the physical structures we create that either support or sabotage real listening.

Bad architecture:

• Phone on the table (even face-down)

• Laptop open (even if you're "just taking notes")

• Keys, wallet, or other fidget objects in your hands

• Physical barriers (desk, table, bags) creating distance

• Your body angled away, ready to leave

Good architecture:

• Phone completely out of sight

• Laptop closed or absent

• Hands empty and visible

• Clear space between you—nothing blocking eye contact

• Body turned fully toward them

• Posture that says: "I'm here. Nowhere else. Just here."

The physical space shapes the emotional space.

Clear the first, and you create room for the second.

The Student Who Felt Seen

Last semester, a student came to my office hours struggling with a class project. She was anxious, apologetic, talking fast.

I did my usual routine: phone in the drawer, laptop closed, clear desk, turned my chair toward her.

She noticed.

Mid-sentence, she stopped and said: "What are you doing?"

"Doing what?"

"Putting everything away. Looking at me like I'm the only person who exists."

"Because right now," I said, "you ARE the only person who exists. This moment is yours. And I want you to know that."

She teared up.

"No one's ever done that before," she said.

We spent the next 30 minutes working through her project. But the breakthrough wasn't academic.

It was human.

She felt seen. Valued. Worth someone's undivided attention.

The Practice

Here's your challenge for today: Have one conversation with ZERO distractions.

Before the conversation starts:

• Put your phone in another room (yes, really)

• Close your laptop

• Clear the physical space between you

• Remove anything you might fidget with

• Turn your full body toward them

Then watch what happens.

Watch how they relax when they realize you're not going anywhere.

Watch how they go deeper when they trust they have your full attention.

Watch how the conversation transforms when nothing competes for your focus.

What You'll Learn

Here's what I've discovered over thousands of conversations, when you remove distractions, you don't just hear better. You connect better.

The other person feels it. They sense your presence. They trust you with more.

And you? You actually experience the conversation instead of managing it while monitoring six other things.

You remember what they said. You notice their body language. You hear what they're NOT saying. You're actually there.

The Most Important Person

My students sometimes ask: "But what if there's an emergency?"

Here's what I tell them:

For the next 15 minutes, this person IS the emergency.

Their struggle. Their question. Their need to be heard.

That's the emergency you're responding to.

Everything else can wait.

And if it can't? You tell them upfront: "I have 15 minutes before I need to check on something. For these 15 minutes, you have my complete attention."

Honesty + presence = trust.

The Invitation

Today, make someone feel like the most important person in the world.

Not through your words.

Through your attention.

Clear the space. Remove the barriers. Be fully present.

Watch what happens when someone feels truly seen.

It might be the most important conversation they have all week.

Tomorrow: "Listening Lesson #5: Lean In (The Body Language of Listening)"

When was the last time someone gave you their complete, undivided attention? How did it feel?

Listening Lesson #3: Breathe (Oct 9, 2025)

Before you can listen to someone else, you must listen to yourself

There's a moment that happens in my listening classes that students remember years later. I ask them to have a difficult conversation with someone they've been avoiding. They're nervous. You can see it in their faces, the way they shift in their seats, cross their arms. Then I give them the simplest instruction: Before you speak to them, take three deep breaths. They look at me like I've lost my mind. "That's it? Just breathe?" Yes. Just breathe. And it changes everything. The Speed of Your Last Task Here's what I've learned from 25 years of conversations—in classrooms, on athletic fields, in hospital rooms, across coffee shop tables: Your body is still moving at the speed of your last task.

You just rushed from a meeting. Your mind is churning through emails. You're thinking about the argument you had this morning, the deadline tomorrow, the text you need to send. You're physically present, but you're not here. The person in front of you deserves better than your leftover attention.

Why Athletes Get This I coached high jump for 20 years. You know what separates good jumpers from great ones? Not talent. Not even technique. Preparation. The best jumpers have a ritual before every attempt. They breathe. They visualize. They prepare their bodies for what's about to happen. They don't just walk up to the bar and hope for the best. You wouldn't start a race without warming up. You wouldn't lift weights without preparing your muscles. You wouldn't perform surgery without scrubbing in. So why would you enter an important conversation without preparing your mind? The Three-Breath Protocol Here's what I teach every student in my listening classes: Before any important conversation: Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Breathe deeply again. And again. That's it. Three breaths. Maybe 30 seconds total.

What Breathing Actually Does This isn't some mystical nonsense. There's real physiology here: Breathing slows your racing mind. Your thoughts are firing at the speed of anxiety. Deep breathing literally changes your brain wave patterns, shifting you from reactive to receptive mode. Breathing signals importance to your body. When you pause to breathe, you're telling your nervous system: "This moment matters. Pay attention." Breathing creates physical presence.

You can't be fully present in your body while your breath is shallow and rapid. Deep breathing grounds you in the now. Breathing prepares you to receive. Listening isn't just about hearing words—it's about receiving another person's experience, emotions, meaning. You can't receive when you're still broadcasting from your last moment.

The Dad Conversation A student told me this story last semester: She'd been avoiding a conversation with her father for months. Every time she thought about it, her chest tightened, her mind raced with everything she wanted to say, all the ways it could go wrong. I gave her the three-breath assignment. She called him. Before he answered, she took three deep breaths. "Professor Lobaugh," she told me later, "those three breaths changed everything. I wasn't anxious anymore. I wasn't rehearsing my speech. I was just... there. Present. Ready to actually talk to my dad instead of AT him." The conversation didn't solve everything. But it was honest. Real. Connected. Because she prepared herself to listen.

The Classroom Moment I do this myself before every class, every office hour appointment, every difficult conversation with a colleague. Three deep breaths. Students notice. "Why do you always pause before you start talking to us?" one asked. "Because you deserve my full attention," I said. "And I can't give it to you if I'm still thinking about the last thing I was doing." That student later told me it was the first time a professor had ever made her feel like she actually mattered.

The Practice: Here's your assignment for today: Before your next important conversation, with a student, a colleague, a family member, anyone, stop and breathe. Don't announce it. Don't make it weird. Just: Stop what you're doing Take a deep breath in through your nose Let it out slowly through your mouth Repeat two more times Notice the shift in your body Now you're ready The person won't know you did it. But they'll feel the difference. They'll feel your presence. Your readiness. Your respect for this moment. What Changes When you breathe before listening, something shifts. You're no longer bringing the chaos of your day into this conversation. You're no longer half-present, half-distracted. You're no longer performing or managing or controlling.

You're just... here. Breathing. Present. Ready to listen. It takes 30 seconds. It changes everything. Tomorrow: "Listening Lesson #4: Focus (And Why Your Phone Is the Enemy)" What's one conversation you need to prepare for this week? Try the three-breath practice and tell me what shifts.

Listening Lesson #2: Stop Talking (Oct 8, 2025)

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?

Listening Lesson #1: The Gift of Being Heard (Oct 7, 2025)

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.

Living Dialogue: The False Revival (Oct 3, 2025)

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 (Oct 2, 2025)

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.