How I learned to listen
I always admired them.
The WWII vets that came to the bagel shop where I worked on my summers away from college. The bagel shop was a popular place for WWII vets to come and have breakfast, because we had great bagels and inexpensive, refillable coffee. But more than that — we knew the regulars, got to know their names, and offered them some conversation, a friendly ear, and really listened. I loved the job because of the regulars who loved to talk each morning; I enjoyed listening to their stories.
Listening is a skill often lost in my generation’s move to mobile phones, tablets, and laptops. Nowadays sometimes I forget to look up when I am in public, lost in emails on my phone — and I imagine that if I had a tech addiction in that moment in my life, I may have missed so many valuable stories and opportunities to connect with people. During that summer, I came to know the deep understanding in their eyes, about the good and bad in history-and I understood their sense of respect for something greater than the here and now.
Of the 16 million service members that served in World War II, fewer than 119,000 veterans are still alive today in the US, with 1,000 WWII veterans passing away each day. 72–92 million lives were lost in World War II, reminding us of the heavy cost this generation paid for the ideals they defended — it remains the deadliest conflict in history. These men and women faced many life challenges — growing up in the poverty of the 1930s, surviving the Great Depression, and facing conflict throughout the world.
After graduating college, my first job out of school was at an Alzheimer’s facility, and once again, one of the best parts of my job was really listening to people’s stories. People have interesting lives, and in later years, they want to talk about it. I remember a resident we had, who loved telling me about her days working in downtown NYC, dancing, and shopping on Fifth Avenue. She was a feminist, who went against every convention of her time. Whenever I would talk to her about her past, she’d remember who she was, and the Alzheimer’s would momentarily seem to go away. She was in a wheelchair and needed help eating, but somehow remembering those times, you could tell she was in a moment of true happiness. One day she talked to me and said something to the effect of, “Let’s go dancing down Fifth Avenue, I’ll wear my heels.” I called her family, and sure enough, they told me the stories were true-they were so happy to hear she was having these moments of clarity. A few months later, she passed away but I will never forget her, or the memories of her time in New York City-she reminded me to dance and enjoy life. She taught me to take chances and live life to the fullest-while everyone was watching.
Other residents taught me about the resilence of the human spirit admist the pain of history. Emmie survived the Holocaust and still carried the horror lived in her experiences with her, and on some days — she would throw herself under a bed — her memory still reliving the trauma of hiding from the Nazis. Most days she would hug me, and smile at me, her beautiful empathetic eyes filled with love and understanding. We became fast friends and she would often come to my desk and sit in the reception area, helping me greet visitors. Emmie taught me that despite the pain of our experiences, we can always spread joy to others through our actions. Emmie taught me that one way to love someone is to listen to their story.
My experience at that job, changed me-it made me look at life a bit backwards. I wondered what memories I would want to remember.-what knowledge would I want to impart? What life would I want to have lived? I will never forget the conversations I had with these beautiful souls. I wanted to dance, I wanted to stand for something, I wanted to have those moments to remember and share when I am older — and most importantly I wanted my life to have meaning. Listening to the ones we love and the ones we meet along the way is truly a gift I never want to miss.
There is a Morgan Freeman film that talks about this very idea. In “The Magic of Belle Isle” Freeman’s character goes to Belle Isle to drink his life away-he is a writer and after his wife’s passing has a hard time coping with her loss. What saves him, is a little girl who truly listens to him-without judgment, or question, and understands him through his life stories. He becomes her writing mentor, and he begins to realize that even though he is old, his life still has value to others because they listen to him and value his advice and wisdom.
We are communicating faster now, but authentic connection can be lost. I wonder if I had a cell phone back then, would I have missed out on all the opportunities to connect with people? Listening is truly the greatest gift we give to others, and to ourselves.
I was truly lucky to have the opportunity to hear stories from The Greatest Generation — so full of wisdom the world needs — an understanding shaped by historical trials and tribulations. In the book “Generations: The History of America’s Future, 1584–2069,” Neil Howe & William Strauss write about this generation,
“Contemplating this generation’s inevitable passing from power, we have been waving it goodbye much as we would a beloved family member whose train is passing out of the station. . .For some time now, this same train has been pulling into another station: elderhood. . .”
Getting to know these beautiful souls was a blessing in my life because I stopped to really listen. They taught me what it means to believe in something greater than yourself and why the world is better for it.
