The Art of Listening: What I Heard When I Started Paying Attention

Apparently, watching movies and listening to music can count as homework.

This was an assignment I could get behind.

During my coaching training, we explored The Art of Listening. The exercise encouraged us to pay attention to the beliefs, expectations, and perspectives coming through in what people say. We could practice using movies, podcasts, and songs: familiar things, approached with a different kind of attention.

I enjoyed this one, and it’s something I plan to keep practicing. Once I started listening for the expectations underneath the dialogue, I found plenty to think about.

And yes, the “shoulds” made another appearance. Apparently, they have an excellent attendance record.

For my first attempt, I watched The Road Within. What stood out to me was how often the characters were viewed through other people’s expectations of how their lives ought to look.

I found myself noticing the pressure around them. Alongside the challenges they were already navigating, there were ideas about how they should behave, how they should respond, and what progress should look like.

One exchange between a father and a doctor stayed with me. When considering where his son might go, the father’s response seemed rooted in the respect he believed his son should have for him. The doctor invited him to consider another possibility, taking into account how harshly he had just spoken to his son.

What I took from that moment was a question:

Am I responding to what’s happening, or to what I believe should be happening?

The father’s expectation of respect shaped how he interpreted the situation. That exchange also prompted me to think about how our own actions influence the responses we receive, and whether we’re willing to include ourselves when we’re trying to understand an interaction.

For my second attempt, I turned to music: Creep by Radiohead, Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson, and Fix You by Coldplay.

A fairly dramatic change of energy between those three.

I heard self-criticism and a sense of not belonging in Creep. In Uptown Funk, I heard bold, exaggerated confidence. And in Fix You, I heard care and a desire to support someone through struggle.

Those were my interpretations, and another listener might hear something different. That was part of what made the exercise interesting.

Putting them alongside each other helped me notice the range of messages a voice can carry. It also brought me back to my own internal dialogue. What kind of commentary am I spending the day with? What assumptions are tucked into it? How does it affect the way I approach things?

For my third attempt, I watched Turtles All the Way Down. I was struck by the portrayal of an intense internal dialogue and how consuming it could feel for the main character.

In one interaction with her doctor, I heard guidance that felt loaded with expectation. My reading of the scene was that the pressure contributed to her pulling back.

I kept thinking about what that meant for my own practice.

If someone becomes hesitant, disagrees, or goes quiet, I want to get curious about what’s happening. Have I misunderstood them? Are we moving too quickly? Does the direction of the conversation fit what they actually want?

What I interpret as resistance might be someone telling me something important.

I want to be able to step back, check my understanding, and make room for their perspective. That includes being willing to hear that I’ve missed something.

This exercise reminded me how much attention listening asks of us. I can hear someone’s words while already preparing a response, making an assumption, or deciding what would help. Slowing that process down gives me a better chance of understanding the person in front of me.

That’s the kind of listening I want to keep building as a coach, and as a person.

Here’s a question to take into your next conversation:

What might you hear if you paused your own interpretation long enough to ask, “What does that mean for you?”

There’s plenty for me to practice there. Fortunately, I now have a reason to call movie night professional development.

Tegan