Just listen. It's all anyone needs you to do

Technology might make it easier for us to forge new connections as well as maintain relationships with those who are far away, but it’s also eroding relationships with those who are close to us. In his book Focus, leading US psychologist Daniel Goleman (whose work is fascinating, BTW) has written about how technology is killing our attention spans. We are so used to the barrage of information presented to us that we lose interest when forced to focus on just one thing, or one person. What that means for relationships is this: “Being able to focus on the other person rather than the text you just received has become the new fundamental requirement for having a relationship with that person,” Daniel says.

The reason I bring this up is not to lament our increasingly scattered and superficial social interactions – although that is concerning – but to reflect on a really important facet of relationships that I feel I am in danger of forgetting how to do: listening.


It does feel, at least to me, that it’s harder than ever to be fully engaged in a conversation with someone else, and the influence of so much competing stimuli is surely part of the problem. (Although to be fair, I’ve always had a short attention span.) To be fully engaged in a conversation means listening – really listening – to the other person, which is as important in our interactions people we know as it is with those we don’t.

A few weeks ago I was on a bus trip home, writing in my notebook, when an old man sitting next to me suddenly asked me what I was focusing on so intently. This started a conversation that lasted the entire journey home and covered: handwriting styles, the best and worst places in the world we’d each visited and the history of the suburbs we were travelling through. I realised how bewildering it must be to someone of his generation to see everyone staring at their phones or listening to music – anything but engaging with the people and places around them. Everyone is trying to be somewhere other than where they are. As I got off the bus he thanked me for listening and said how much he’d enjoyed our chat (I had too).

This was an important reminder that giving someone our complete attention, and really taking in what they’re saying, is such a beautiful and underrated thing to do. Dave Isay, winner of the 2015 TED Prize, describes listening as an act of generosity and love. StoryCorps is a project Dave founded where two people who know each other sit in a mobile recording booth with a facilitator for 40 minutes of conversation. Essentially, they interview each other – many treating this as a ‘what I would say if this was our last conversation together’ scenario – and what comes out of that is a new understanding about the other person and a deeper connection to them. A recording of their conversation is available for a fee to cover costs. Dave is now developing an app to allow people to have these meaningful conversations at home.

“So much of how we communicate is fleeting and inconsequential,” says Dave in his TED talk. “I’ve learned about the poetry and wisdom and grace that can be found in the words of people all around us when we simply take the time to listen.”

What I’ve been reminded of lately how powerful the simple act of listening is. All anyone wants is to be heard. To be understood, yes, but most importantly to be heard. Our ears are as important in meaningful interactions as our hearts are. By listening to someone – whether it’s a random man on the bus or your significant other – you are bringing integrity to that exchange, affirming that that person matters and validating their human experience. That is the best gift you could give anyone. I hope, that in an age with so much competing for our attention, I never forget how to do that.  

Why (and how) rejection hurts. And learning not to fear that pain

Hands up everyone who isn't afraid of rejection! 

Oh, nobody? I thought so.

The first thing that pops into my mind when I think of rejection is a memory of being the last one picked for sports teams at school, Freaks and Geeks style. Bring out the violins.

But rejection happens in adulthood too, and it's not only destructive on an emotional level, it has an impact on your physical health.


In his book Emotional First Aid, psychologist Guy Winch writes that rejection is such a strong emotion that the body experiences it like physical pain. Remember, for example, what it feels like to be dumped: "You might have felt pressure suffocating you, had trouble breathing or had jabbing pain like a sharp knife," Guy writes. (BTW, Guy's TED talk on emotional first aid is moving and insightful, if you're interested.)

This shows how intensely rejection can affect us. But it isn't a connection with physical pain that makes me as afraid of being rejected now as I was in my childhood. The reason fear of rejection stalks me today is all about self-protection.

My worst experience of rejection in adulthood was in 2013 when my then-best friend squeezed me out of the close-knit circle of friends I'd had since my university days. I had no choice but to walk away, but the cost was high. No more sun-loving barbecue invitations. No more giggly brunches. No more daily email banter. Suddenly lonely evenings and weekends stretched out before me like a vast wasteland. My phone never rang. I'm sure my friends had their reasons - there are always two sides to the story - and it would be remiss of me not to admit that I was not a great friend to them either. Knowing that we were moving in different directions, and would have drifted apart anyway, didn't ease my despair - it was the slap of being rejected that hurt. Essentially, my worthiness as a friend and as a human being had been assessed by people who knew me incredibly well, and judged to be inadequate. The message: I am not good enough. The effects on my already-low self-esteem were catastrophic.

I wrapped my wings around my fractured heart and retreated into isolation. I stopped talking to people. I was cold to people who tried to connect with me. I stopped attending the few social events from other connections that came up. These were not conscious actions; they were the response to an unconscious belief playing in the background. This belief told me not to get close to anyone because I could not face the chances - which I believed to be high - of being rejected again. 

I'd love to tell you that this fear disappeared but it is more accurate to say it has only lessened slightly. After moving to a new city I have found myself in a great social circle of warm and wonderful people - yay! - but it has been difficult to learn to let people in. I have several confidantes, but I am careful not to lean on anyone too much. I don't have a best friend and I don't want one - that's way too risky.

Obviously there are a bunch of other self-esteem issues going on here too, which I've had for decades and have chronicled in other posts (like this one), as well as my natural (and entirely healthy) tendency towards introversion. But fear of rejection is almost certainly a factor in my reluctance to build deep relationships, both platonic and otherwise. 

Is this really a problem, though? I mean, it's keeping me safe, so that's useful. Is a fear of rejection even a thing that needs fixing? I've thought about this a lot, and my answer is yes and no. The thing is, fear never goes away. You can mute it but it will still be there, shapeshifting into another form (such as fear of failure). 

So I can't fix it. But I can change the way I respond to it. I can find new ways to arrest these thoughts when they appear before me, masquerading as my reality. I can go badass detective on the messages I send myself, and subject them to interrogation to determine their validity, instead of simply following their well-intended but ultimately self-limiting directives. I can push back on the thoughts that tell me the risk of letting down some of my barriers and simply being myself in my interactions with others is too great, and would lead to rejection. 

Of course, I don't *have* to do any of these things. 

But. 

If I don't, I'm essentially telling myself that I'm not good enough - which is the very message this fear is trying to protect me from receiving from others. By allowing myself to risk being rejected, I'm backing myself and saying I am worthy of being accepted, and that I'm resilient enough to deal with the consequences of possible rejection. In doing so, I'm accepting myself, which may not diminish my fear of rejection any but it seems like a pretty good start. 

Don’t judge me for eating meat. Or sugar. Or carbs

I accidentally became embroiled in a fight on social media over the weekend. Normally I don’t engage with people who are clearly trying to start an argument, as this woman was, but this comment, posted on a Facebook spiritual group page, enraged me:

“We’re all vegans here, right?”

Look, I know I shouldn’t have taken the bait, but these sort of sanctimonious statements really give me the shits (to borrow an Aussie colloquialism). I have no beef (sorry, couldn't resist that pun) with vegans or vegetarians – in fact, I admire them for the courage of their convictions – but I do have an issue with people who pass judgement on anyone whose beliefs don’t align with their own. I shot back:

“Would it be a problem for you if we weren’t?”

She replied with an attacking comment that was poorly worded and poorly punctuated (if you’re going to go shoving your opinions down people’s throats you might at least learn how to express them clearly and correctly!), basically saying that meat is murder. I wrote back:

“I know you mean well but it’s only fair that you respect me, and others, for my decision not to be vegan just as much as I respect your decision TO be vegan.”

Her reply called into question the extent that I could rightly call myself spiritual if I do not shun animal products. Oh boy. I wanted to reply that being spiritual is not a competition, and that if she needed to take down other people she had probably missed the point of spirituality entirely. I wanted to tell her that there is no merit in professing kindness towards animals if she is going to dish out contempt to humans who don’t meet her standards of kindness.

Instead I gently reminded her that what other people believe, or eat, is none of her business, and no one has the right to judge others for their choices. Several vegans and vegetarians weighed into this debate and complained that this woman was giving them a bad name. Which is very unfair, as the vast majority of vegans and vegetarians I've met are secure enough in themselves that they don’t need to preach or convert other people to their cause.

The thing this exchange highlighted for me is the way some people are assessing the worth of people based on what they eat.

I’m seeing this food judgement a lot lately. Look at your Instagram feed and you’ll see what I mean: there are people shunning sugar, carbs and cooked foods who think their nutrition choices make them morally superior. People who are using what they put on their plate – or, more to the point, what they don’t – to make some sort of religious statement. And they think this means they are doing life better than you are.

This deeply concerns me. Not only because the last thing we need is another reason to judge each other, but because it fosters a climate where orthorexia is more difficult to detect and, more worryingly, celebrated.

Orthorexia*, if you haven’t heard of it, is an emerging eating disorder where sufferers become obsessed with eating only pure foods. This psychological condition is very serious. Not only because eliminating anything – never mind a whole litany of things – from your diet is going to make you unhealthy and nutritionally deficient, but because orthorexia is a gateway to anorexia, which can be fatal. 

Orthorexics think about food every single minute of every day. They experience anxiety if they can’t eat foods that conform to their rigid standards. They punish themselves if they break their own rules. The only experiences that matter in their lives are tied to the integrity of what they are eating. This is the tipping point where very healthy becomes very unhealthy, and it’s an extremely destructive way to live – emotionally, mentally and physically.

Obviously, orthorexia isn’t the same as choosing to live a vegan, paleo or sugar-free lifestyle, but when nutrition choices lead people to judge others who don’t share their vision, there’s a danger that they may be taking their food philosophy too seriously. And if a commitment to a restrictive diet becomes extreme, that’s a problem.

I’d like to see us all become more accepting of what other people choose to eat. I actually can’t believe I just wrote that – like, I can’t believe I needed to write that. I don’t care whether you chow down on a dirty street pie or you reach for an organic, cold-pressed smoothie. Just don’t judge me for going with the pie. Your smoothie doesn’t make you better than me.

This shows a feature I wrote about orthorexia, published in NEXT magazine (New Zealand), October 2014

On silencing my inner control freak, and letting go

I did battle with my inner control freak this week, and I’m not sure who won.

One minute I was embracing the chaos of my currently crazy-busy life and setting very clear priorities for my time; the next I was seriously considering setting my alarm for 4.30am so I could fit in a workout before starting work at 7.30. I had to give myself a stern talking to at that point. In the unlikely event that any of you needed a reminder on this: 4.30am is a time for going to sleep after a massively unhealthy night. It is not a time for waking up and commencing massively healthy activity.  

The part of me that wanted to make every minute of my life useful – hello, control freak! – did not want to accept the fact that, at a time when work is ridiculously (but temporarily) busy, I do not have the time for my lengthy fitness sessions. A one-hour yoga class after work: yes, but only once a week. Ninety-minute sweat sessions followed by the palaver of getting my body into a workplace-appropriate state then travelling into the city: no, not right now.

Of course, this wasn’t really about exercise at all. Although fitness is important to me, I’m fairly blasé about it, and it’s not unusual for me to flag a workout due to time constraints. So for me to consider depriving myself of the sleep I so badly need to get through this busy period, in order to squeeze in gym time, was not about maintaining my physical fitness but about maintaining a routine. My inner control freak does not like the unexpected. It likes order. It likes familiarity. It believes it can keep me safe by restricting me to a predictable path. It is wrong.

Last weekend I tried floatation therapy which demonstrated my struggle to let go in a fairly obvious way. This involves stepping into a dark, silent chamber filled with highly salted water for an hour and just floating (side note: you guys really need to get in on this action). In other words, letting go. Not letting your body steer you. Not letting your brain be distracted by what’s around you (you are virtually deprived of sensory stimulation). Not letting your brain obsess about the time or grocery lists or deadlines or upcoming family birthdays or whether your boss is shitty with you or whether she was just overtired when she was a bit short with you yesterday. Should be easy, right?

Floating on the surface, going in deep.

Yeah, it should be.

I struggled with this so much. First, my body didn’t want to accept that it wasn’t required to move. That it was fully supported and perfectly safe. It’s a very strange sensation to be partially submerged and not have to do anything to keep yourself in that state. I kept trying to push my bum downwards to the bottom of the chamber, just to reassure myself that I couldn’t sink (yeah I know, that doesn’t even make sense). I also kept lifting my arms up behind me because I was worried I’d hit my head on the edge.

Then my stupid brain started up. It didn’t want to be present in this moment, it wanted to race ahead and plan everything everything everything. The week ahead. New projects to pitch for. What to say to friends who are going through challenging times. My inner control freak was not checking out of this hotel anytime soon.

Then something funny happened – I hit my head on the edge of the chamber. It didn’t hurt because I was drifting across the water very slowly, but it did give me a bit of a fright. The reason I found this amusing was because it was such an obvious message from the Universe: GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD.

So I did. After I’d composed the grocery list.

After I finally let go, the most beautiful sense of peace washed over me, and even though it took me more than half the session to get to that point, it was so worth it. I felt so relaxed, in every molecule of my body, that I almost fell asleep on the train on the way home (this never happens – normally I’m furiously scribbling in my notebook or on high alert for weirdos) and that night I had the best sleep I’ve had for months.

So in other words, letting go and trusting that I will be fully supported is something I really need to get better at. If only I could figure out a way to do that without having to almost drown myself…

Why music is so important to me

I’ve been writing about some fairly heavy topics lately (grief and fear, etc) so I thought I’d lighten up the blog a little by talking about a subject I could riff on for hours: music – something we all need more of in our lives. Turns out our ear holes have a direct line to our emotions. So listening to music not only drowns out your colleague’s whiny voice, science says it also improves your emotional health. Unless you’re listening to Nickelback, which has given no benefits to anyone, ever.

US researchers have discovered that music affects deep emotional centres in the brain – so that high you feel when you hear TLC’s No Scrubs is legit joy (oh, just me then?). In a McGill University study, participants’ brains were monitored as they listened to songs they’d identified as special to them. Researchers found dopamine was released in participants’ brains when they listened to those tunes. Dopamine’s the hormone associated with rewards – FYI it surges during eating and sex (yay and yay), and with drugs such as amphetamines (not so yay).

The dopamine release happens not only because we are enjoying the song but because we have a memory of having enjoyed that song in the past embedded in our brain, and we anticipate the high points that are coming. 

Science. It’s all smart and shit.

The reason I enjoyed reading about this study was it not only validated my experience of how music has lifted me when I’ve been feeling flat and motivated me to run faster on the treadmill but because it prompted me to consider the ways music has underpinned some of my best and worst memories. The way it transports me back to a particular time and place, and accentuates key connections. Because, as a cheesy ad slogan once declared, life deserves a soundtrack.

*      Good memory – Hey Jude by The Beatles. When I was a little kid, my dad would sing this to me, replacing it with ‘Hey Truds’. For years I was convinced it was a song he’d written just for me, and was bitterly disappointed when I learned the actual lyrics, which my father had purposely botched. (Fuck you, Jude, whoever you are.) The song doesn’t necessarily make me think of my dad, but it is associated with the warm glow of childhood and feeling wholly loved and protected.

*      Bad memory – Steal my Kisses by Ben Harper. This song was special to a workmate of mine and her boyfriend, so it was played at her funeral. Even though she died 15 years ago I still cannot listen to this song. To me, it is inextricably linked with unbearable sadness and the loss of love.

*        Random memory – Freedom by George Michael. Five years ago I was in a taxi with a good friend, and this song was playing on the radio. Without talking about it or thinking about it we interrupted our conversation to simultaneously belt out the line: “SOMETIMES THE CLOTHES DO NOT MAKE THE MAN!” It was that delicious realisation that you’re perfectly in sync with someone, just for a moment, and knowing you’ve just forged a shared memory. The poor taxi driver did not enjoy it so much; he got such a fright he almost drove off the road. Sometimes my friend will text me that lyric out of the blue and it makes me laugh every time.

Maybe this post has reminded you of the good, bad and odd memories that come flooding back when you hear certain songs. Seems like a good reason to turn up the volume, right?

Random but related: after I wrote this post, I did my daily angel card pull (I do one for myself before I draw a card for you guys every day): I got the ‘play music’ card. If that’s not spiritual validation, I don’t know what is.