I picked up this book at my favorite bookstore yesterday, during one of my favorite practices: the one I call “go where the heart leads.” I roam the store and touch the spines of the books until I land on the one that speaks. This one sang yesterday and I can’t put it down. Listening is my jam.
I strive everyday to be a better listener. Some days I succeed and some days I fail. This is ok. Most of the time when I fail? I’m grateful. Grateful because then I can learn with depth the needs of my own heart and the heart of those around me.
Listening is an art, one that needs to be cultivated and curated and loved and grown. It’s hard work and requires us to chisel away our own insecurities and fears to let ourselves be heard while letting others see the deep, raw parts of our gorgeous souls. (And that is some scary ass stuff!) I’ve discovered over time, that being a better listener of others requires being a better listener of myself. That my voice holds the deepest value in the matters of my own heart. The more I hear me, the better I can hear those around me. Its cyclical and it’s radiant.
And? Since I’m being so honest…I thought about taking the perfect picture here, with gorgeous light and a better background…and then I realized that’s not real. This cardboard box that’s been sitting in my living room for our cat to play with which is serving as my end table is real, and true and ugly. Like listening deeply is.