Marry The Guy Who Listens to The Whole Album
Or, how does one become a good listener in a marriage?
I once dated a man who taught me to appreciate music.
One evening, I curled up on his couch while he put on an album, turned the lights low, and went to the kitchen to cook a simple risotto.* It was our first date, and a very sweet one. He encouraged me to relax and enjoy each song for what it was, without rushing to the next or rewinding.
I must admit, halfway through the second song, I got anxious and wanted to skip ahead.
To listen — truly listen without judgment, the need to defend or explain — is a skill of great value, and possibly one of the most important when considering married life.
My date was kind, introspective, and the last guy to take himself seriously. I still remember that smirk. And I remember mornings in an apartment that smelled like freshly brewed coffee while he tuned his bass guitar in the other room. From him, I learned to sit tight and listen.
Lately, I’ve been trying to do my best and listen to others without the need to correct or defend. It’s hard as hell. As humans, our defense mechanism is innate, not because we’re afraid of being wrong, but because we so desperately want to be validated. It doesn’t always make sense, but it’s ripe with feeling.
Throughout my romantic history, I can only count two occasions where I’ve felt the most heard: with my musically inspired date above, and with my current love.
It’s a wonderful thing, until I’m expected to reciprocate.
In most cases, I struggle, and at best, I only hear what I’ve been trained to be afraid of.
Let me explain.
A few weeks ago, I spent a weekend in Berlin. I’d never been to Germany, and was always curious about the culture, the people, and the history. Very quickly, I became impatient with everything and everyone. The lines at the museum were too slow; the hotel was too cold; the Uber driver talked too much. There was no real issue — I was just quick to put up a wall of annoyance to run from the words of my father:
“Spend less time fearing pain, and more time listening to him.”
Dads.
Why must they always know?
My heart was once broken by a man who belittled my every move in the middle of an argument. From him, I trained myself to have expert retorts so that I wouldn’t feel so small. Then there was the gentleman who forgot to tell me that he was married. With children. From him, I learned to shut someone out so quickly that their decisions could have no ramifications on my life. Most no-so-recently, there was a man who decided to rewrite our history in order to abscond from any responsibility of lying to me, and so, from him I trained myself to secure evidence as not to be gaslit.
My love is a calculated man with too much on his plate not to be clear with his words. Being cautious, he often refrains from saying things too soon, at least not until it’s something he can carry on his back. It’s a trait I both admire and despise.
A weekend in Berlin.
While enjoying a listening bar in Berlin, sipping my non-alcoholic wine, I realized that my impatience with everything on the trip was directly tied to my inability to listen. To my love, to myself, to the little whispers from the universe nudging me to stay the course and let life unravel on its own.
Much like listening to the whole album, I didn’t need to skip ahead or rewind because over time, each song would paint the full picture.
I think that a man who takes his time is a formidable force. He’s usually the type to be unbothered by the opinions of others — a man fully rooted in what works for him and what doesn’t. It’s sexy. It’s boring. It’s thorough. And it’s exactly what I’d like to wake up next to for the rest of my life.
I’ve always been drawn to men who love music, be it guys with vinyl collections or stories for every live show they’ve attended. They who value music seem to value patience — the real virtue of this existence. As I consider married life, I often fear that my inability to be as patient will cripple me. I watch my fellow counterparts in their marriages deal with this daily, and worry that it’s a component we don’t value as much as we do chemistry, compatibility, or connection. I have no experience with marriage, so I’m not the woman to answer, but the question remains: how does one become a good listener in a marriage?
I appreciate the ability to share the thoughts in my head.
Feel free to write to me with yours…and here is an album to listen to: Adagio, by Etella.
*In this day and age, I don’t recommend going to a man’s home on the first date — too many 20/20 episodes in my book.