“When people talk listen completely. Don’t be thinking what you’re going to say. Most people never listen. Nor do they observe. You should be able to go into a room and when you come out know everything that you saw there and not only that. If that room gave you any feeling you should know exactly what it was that gave you that feeling. Try that for practice.” — Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway’s advice is directed toward writers, but it applies in many significant ways to life itself. When we listen and observe, we learn. I have tried to practice these skills not only in rooms where I am with other people, but also in nature. What do we hear when we listen to the land and the sea as well as to one another? How does the story of a city differ from the story of the forest? Why do we feel comfortable in one environment and threatened in another?
I have been blessed with many opportunities to listen over the course of my life, and I have had an even greater concentration of these experiences since I arrived in Hawaii nearly three years ago. Last year, as part of the House Maunakea Working Group, I had opportunity to listen to people with very different life experiences than my own. All of my fellow working group members had much more experience listening to the stories Hawaii tells than I have had. Because we all took the time to listen, however, we were able to work together and dialogue over difficult issues in a way that other venues do not allow.
It is easy to rush past the stories that others tell, and certainly during heated discussions, we are often thinking about the next thing we are going to say and thus lose track of another person’s voice and perspective. But when we do that, we are not really communicating. Our words sail past one another and we do not connect at all. In order to really get to know someone else, we need to slow down and pay attention.
I find this easier to do in Hawaii than in most places I have lived. The opportunities to “talk story” with others, whether it be a shopkeeper in Kapaau or a government official in Honolulu, are rich and meaningful. As we hear the stories of others, we evolve. We take in new ideas and perspectives, and if we really hear them and consider them thoughtfully, we become better, more fully developed people ourselves. Here on our island, I find myself taking that time when I can, and because of that I have become more patient, thoughtful, and humble. I have changed for the better.
Similar learning and growth take place when we listen to the ‘aina. It may seem childish to look at the clouds as we did when we were young, imagining white fluffy animals and other fancies, but farmers have been watching the clouds for millennia, observing these stories without words in order to learn what they need to know about when to plant and when to harvest. Similarly, the surfer and the sailor watch and listen to the waves with a more finely tuned eye and ear than those of us who just appreciate the view and the calming white noise. Not paying attention to the story those waves are telling is dangerous to them in a way the rest of us often cannot always appreciate.
Young children, with seeming limitless curiosity, look upon the human and natural world with a wonder that adults too often abandon. Part of our job at the university is to make sure that spark of curiosity and wonder persists in our students, making them lifelong learners.
An old friend gave me a plaque that sits on my desk that says, “Wisdom begins in Wonder.” A new friend told me last week about the myriad ways nature can tell us stories. How wise we become when we listen to the stories all around us, whether they be the stories of people or the stories of nature. How rich our own story becomes when we let other stories in.
Bonnie D. Irwin is chancellor of the University of Hawaii at Hilo. Her column appears monthly in the Tribune-Herald.