“Learn to listen.” His pipe clenched firmly in his teeth, he rocked back in his chair and looked like he was falling asleep! I had been told he was a wise old man, but “learn to listen”? I failed to see where the wisdom was in that. In retrospect, he was right.
In my careers, I had always managed to get some kind of managerial position. I thought I was fairly personable, always polite to whoever I was supervising. It all started out well. Getting to know as many employees as possible, usually at a welcome party. Slowly, rumours circled that I was hard to get along with, I didn’t pay attention to suggestions no matter the money that could be saved, wasn’t concerned for any family crisis that may occur. After a time I was let go or moved to a different department. I blamed it all on the gender disparity that most of the companies displayed. Starting out with determination to break the supposed glass ceiling, I was sure that I had failed to represent women. “What am I doing wrong?” My best friend and I had gone to lunch. She always lent me her ear, patiently listening to my woes. On this day, I think she’d heard enough. She sighed, put her fork down, dabbed her mouth with her napkin and sat back. “Melanie, I can only tell you to go see a good friend of mine. He’s not a relative but everyone call's him Uncle. He may have the answer you’re looking for.” Almost offended, I took the slip of paper from her, prepared to ‘lose it’. “And don’t lose it. Of everything that you’ve told me over the years you have one problem bigger that the ‘glass ceiling’ thing you talk about. Tell him your story and see what he says.”
It took me two months to go see this ‘Uncle’. I thought about what Melanie had told me, I drove past the man’s house, almost called his number a couple of times. My ego felt badly bruised and when I finally lost the last job, I called him again. A woman answered. When I stammered out what I wanted to do, all she said was “Come on over, he’s been expecting you.” and hung up. I was as nervous as a new hire. Parking a block away, I walked to the tiny stuccoed house on a quiet street. Uncle and his wife greeted me and offered me a chair on their little porch, lemonade and two glasses on a small table. “I’ll be inside if you need me, dear.” Nodding to me she said: “Pleased to meet you.” The screen door closed quietly behind her. Uncle and I talked for two hours; I did most of the talking. Then there was silence, only the birds and the creak of the rocking chair ruffled the air. I sipped on my lemonade wondering what I should do. Leave? Just wait for him to say something, his wife to come out? Just as I had decided to leave, the squeak of the rocking chair fell silent. “Birds are happy today. Do you hear that wind rustling to trees?” I could have shaken him. And Melanie was going to hear from me! She sent me over to have a glass of lemonade and hear not a drop of advice from a stranger! I was furious. Then he looked at me with his old blue eyes and said. “Learn to listen.”
It took me a long time to hear what he said. It wasn’t that day or even that week. It started the birds and the wind. Then it was the noises of the street, the music I played, the conversations behind me in a coffee shop. I started to hear the voices of all my employees and my own replies and began to understand.
“When we listen, we hear someone into existence.”
~ Laurie Buchanan, PhD
