This morning I got up early to take my dad to the donut shop for his belated Father’s Day present–because he said he wanted a donut as his present instead of a burger or steak dinner. Talk about fun. Talk about a sugar rush. Talk about a cheap date. Every son should be so lucky. For under twenty bucks, I made my dad’s day. Seriously, the man loves donuts. Of course, I certainly wouldn’t turn my nose up at one.

Or two, filled with chocolate, for that matter.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s getting married soon. While discussing the need for a solid dance frame, I had the follower connect with me in closed (standard ballroom) position, her left arm on top of my right, her right hand in my left. At first, her arms were loose, “spaghetti arms.” But then she matched the tone in my arms (steady, like a wire hanger), and it felt like things “clicked.” “THERE!” I said. “That’s how you tell your partner–I’m listening.” At this point her fiancee, who works as a therapist, said, “Ahhhhhhhh.”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–the importance of listening. It’s something my therapist is awesome at, not only listening to, but remembering what I say. For example, despite the fact that I’ve seen her for five years, she’s never taken a single note–and yet she never seems lost. I’ll mention a name of a friend or an ex, and she’s right there. “Oh yes,” she’ll say, and then she’ll mention something she remembers about that person. When we’ve talked about her excellent memory, she’s said, “I exercise the shit out of it,” meaning that it’s something she consciously works to improve, not just with me, but with all her clients.

So often in conversation I’m thinking about what I’m going to say next. But recently I’ve been trying to listen more, to keep my damn mouth shut and pay attention the way my therapist does. This morning at the donut shop the lady behind the counter said she hears ALL KINDS of stories. Well, for a writer stories are gold, but you can only HEAR them if you’re NOT TALKING. Recently I started to say something at the same time one of my friends did, so I used a phrase I’ve been trying to use more often–“You go ahead.” My dad says that if he doesn’t say something right away then he’ll forget it. My take on this is that waiting to talk is an excellent way to IMPROVE your memory. My therapist says that if you forget something you were about to say, it wasn’t that important in the first place.

Listening, however, isn’t just important in your external world. It’s also important in your internal one. What I mean is that so often we listen to what others have to say about our lives and how we should be, and we even talk, talk, talk about our problems to anyone who will let us. But how often do we really get quiet and listen to our own hearts and minds? How often do we check in with not what we think we should think and feel, but with what we actually think and feel? In my experience, not often enough. Since starting therapy and this blog I’ve had countless experiences in which I had to finally recognize–I’m pissed, I’m hurting, I’m overwhelmed, I’m traumatized. These experiences are why I sometimes refer to myself as sweetheart–Sweetheart, I’m here for you–because I’ve ignored so many parts of myself for so long and am now trying my damndest to listen to them. To shut up and hear myself for once.

This evening I attended my friend Marla’s writing class and shared the beginning–because I only have the beginning–of a short story I wrote last night. When I started writing it I only had a sentence, one single sentence that’s been in my brain and in my phone for probably two years because, Maybe that could turn into a story one day. Despite the fact that I THOUGHT about that sentence all day yesterday, I couldn’t add anything to it. But then last night I closed my eyes and got quiet. I thought, Who is saying this one sentence, and what do they want to say next? I’m listening. And just like that, the voice of my main character started talking. Within an hour, I had three paragraphs of their story.

Tonight after I read my first three paragraphs in class, Marla and I were chatting and I realized something about my story that I hadn’t planned or done on purpose–that my main character had something important happen when they were four and that four was the age I was when our house burned down. And whereas I’ve always thought the fire was a source of trauma for me (and still think that), in my character’s story I referred to their important event as a gift. My point is that our subconscious and even our conscious minds and bodies are always trying to heal us, always trying to get us to move forward. Look at all the good that came from that horrible situation. Sure, we can fight this growth process, but one way or another, our issues are going to creep up and asked to be healed–in our dreams, our relationships, our art. So all the better if we can be conscious, if we can work with our issues intentionally, if we can say, Sweetheart, how can I help you move on? I’m listening.