“We Are a Species of Listeners.”
Courtesy of Memory Alpha
“We are a species of listeners.” That line, delivered by Guinan (played by Whoopi Goldberg) in Star Trek: The Next Generation, has stayed with me. I loved this throw away quote and even though I highly identified with Deanna Troi, the counselor on board the ship (who was also half empath on her mother’s side), Guinan’s quote is also apt to those of us who work with people as helpers.
Help stems from deep listening.
I thought about this while watching a video of pianist Yumeka Nakagawa performing Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude. Midway through, she begins to cry. Is it because she’s so moved by the beauty of it? Or was it the story behind the song? (It’s hypothesized that Chopin wrote it during a getaway with his lover, author George Sand; a relationship that was quite fraught. Go watch Impromptu for some fictional background and lots of fun acting and bad wigs.) I haven't seen any interview with Yumeka Nakagawa yet where she unpacks what so moved her; however, I feel like it’s safe to hypothesize that she was moved through listening. And watching her being moved, through her listening, we feel moved too.
Two weeks ago, I was chatting with a jazz pianist friend, after a show of his. His improvisation was so incredible, it sounded like he had four hands (he didn't). I mentioned that feedback and he asked, “Do you play?” I told him I studied for almost a decade as a child and I added, “I don’t play currently, but those years of study made me a better listener.” He paused. “Whoa. That’s profound.”
Listening is a practice—a form of musicianship, empathy, or attention.
At Columbia’s Coaching Conference last week, longtime coach D. Marc Schulmann shared a story that deepened this truth. A few years ago, he woke up one morning deaf in one ear and with only five percent hearing in the other. When meeting with his audiologist about cochlear implant surgery, she warned him that learning to hear again would be slow and demanding. “You’ll have to tell yourself,” she said, “‘I choose to hear.’”
Marc, who continued to coach through this period, adapted what the doctor said for his coaching work: “I choose to listen.”
He invited us to explore that idea with a few questions:
What would you miss if you could not hear again?
What does your brain tune out?
How does your own noise interfere with what you’re hearing?
And then he said something that is so obvious in its deep truth and so necessary to remember: “We process what we listen to.”
Yumeka Nakagawa is proof. The jazz musician reflected that he could hear how deeply I was listening and processing.
Listening isn’t simply hearing sound; it’s interpretation. It’s how meaning takes shape. Whether it’s Chopin’s notes, a client’s hesitation, or the silence after a question, we’re constantly organizing what we hear into understanding.
In a culture that rewards talking and performing, to choose to listen is to notice again—to let sound, story, and silence have their own say.
Which statement or question above resonates with you most—and why?