Seeing the Invisible

I see who the wind is,
the way it blows,
by the dance of the leaves.

I see who you are,
the way you go,
by the wake that you leave.

As I move through life, I am especially attendant to having my antennae tuned to the honest answer to the question, “How am I landing with others – in their world?“

Is my speaking (what I am saying, my intention in saying it, and who I am as I speak) leaving them empowered or disempowered?

Uplifted or depressed?

Forwarded or constrained?

How did I land?

Another resonant question is, “What did they receive?”

Did they receive what I meant to express, or did they receive something else based on something that got triggered in them when I spoke?

What did they hear? Did they actually hear what I was saying, or did they hear something that popped off in their own head when I spoke, something they took a flight on? Or did something I said trigger an old memory with some emotional content that got mixed in with what I was saying?

And here’s another question:

Was I holding them in the highest of honor?  Or was I coming from some judgment of them or comparison about how they “should be.”  People, well, we all, pick up on stuff like that.

Of course, to really be aware of the answer to these questions, I need to be finely tuned to how they are listening to me.

In other words, how am I landing?

In my language, that would be expressed through the phrase “listening to the listening.”

When we “listen to the listening,” we know how we are landing and if, indeed, they are getting what we actually meant to say. We can tell, we can hear if we are in (real) communication with one another.

How did they hear me?

Did they receive what I intended—not only what I was saying but also my experience and intention behind what I was saying?

Or, did they get something else?  Something that perhaps got “triggered” automatically when I spoke?

If I am listening, I can tell when something gets triggered.  They get uncomfortable, or look away, or start thinking, or go away, far away. I can also tell if they are resisting my communication. I can hardly speak if they are resisting my communication.

So, what I am saying is that part of the discipline of being responsible for the wake I am leaving is being fully present—to what they are saying and who they are being, without judgment but with appreciation. When I am fully present, I can hear if they are open and interested in what I want to say. If they are not, better not to say it at all.

I know this well, and have been receiving life’s lessons around that.

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Once again, my daughter is my greatest teacher.

It is so cool having a daughter who is bright, perceptive and in communication with you.

She’s 27.  I am a coach. For about six months last year, after she moved out of our house after Covid, and got her own place, she was on her own. She was looking for a job in her industry. I thought“I knew best.” I kept telling her what I thought she should do, how she should be. I wanted to give her the best advice I could. I mean, I’ve been through life’s teachings, I’m way older than her, with LOTS more experience, and by golly I’m even a coach – and a damn good one.  People get all SORTS of life-giving openings out of working with me.

WHY WON’T SHE LISTEN?

Well, I finally got it. She didn’t WANT to “get coached” by me.  She didn’t WANT my advice.

What she really wanted was to know that I love her, honor her, appreciate her, and value her. And value her thinking. And respect who she is. And let her find her own way.

It took me a while to get that through my thick skull, but I finally got it.

I pulled WAY back.  I call it “going yin.” I disciplined myself to keep my mouth shut. Every time I had something brilliant to “contribute to her,” I noticed I was about to speak and did not. Instead, I stayed present and consciously, intentionally appreciated her. I listened for her humor. I appreciated her courage, her passage now to explore and receive life’s lessons through her own experience.

Even if that meant failing. Failure, after all, is one of our greatest teachers. It sure has been mine.

It’s not like it was easy. It wasn’t.  It was hard.  I have a husband who, thank goodness, was a support to me and acknowledged me every time I did that.  He knew how hard it was for me.

Yet, a miracle occurred out of this discipline.  About six months into my starting that practice for myself, she began asking me questions like, “What do YOU think of this idea?” Or “Can I share my writing with you and would you give me feedback?” And, even, “would you be willing to hold me accountable – be my “accountabillabuddy”—for my exercising my creative itch every night for ½ hour—and I can report back to you?”

That one floored me.  And what an honor – to be my own daughter’s “accountabillabuddy!”

If you are a parent of a young adult, or if this applies elsewhere in your life, may my own experience contribute to yours.

Of course, one way to find out the wake that you are leaving is to ask the person you are concerned about, being totally interested in the answer to that question, and giving them a super safe space to answer you. Normally, if people have something tough to communicate or that they are withholding, they feel that they will be judged or punished if they tell the truth, so you have to make it incredibly safe for them to be honest with you.

One Fall morning, sitting in my “poetry chair” in our family room, pen in hand, looking out the window, being with the Cottonwood, whose leaves were being tossed around by the wind, this poem came through.

Seeing the Invisible

I see who the wind is,
the way it blows,
by the dance of the leaves.

I see who you are,
the way you go,
by the wake you leave.

What is the wake that YOU leave?

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