Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.
Simone Weil
Have you ever wondered how many people have come in and out of your life?
I have. Quite often.
Start at the beginning, and there is family. They are relatively easy to count. They may be the people closest to us, or they may not, depending on the relationship, but there is usually a number we can put on them.
Then we begin this wondrous journey called life, and the numbers become impossible.
We make friends at primary school, secondary school, college and work. We meet people socially. We walk down the street and speak to a stranger. We shop and interact with the person behind the counter. We sit next to somebody on a train. We watch people on the many screens that now occupy our lives.
Some people we are drawn to. Others, not so much.
Some become lifelong companions on the journey. Others play a part in our story for seconds.
But does the length of time determine the depth of the connection?
I don’t think it does.
We tend to think connecting with somebody requires conversation, preferably something deep and meaningful, but perhaps it can be much smaller than that. A look exchanged across a bustling high street. The brush of shoulders as two people leave a train on their way to work. A few words at the post office when all you wanted was one second-class stamp for your distant cousin’s birthday card, and you’ve somehow chosen the queue behind the person posting twelve parcels from their eBay sales.
These moments count.
I’ve been fortunate to travel and to live in different towns, cities and countries during my 56 years. When I think about the number of people I must have met, seen, heard and, occasionally, smelt along the way, it is impossible to comprehend.
Most of them I will never see again.
That doesn’t mean they didn’t matter.
Knowing people, or perhaps trying to understand people, has taught me how to connect. Acting has taught me that. Walking has taught me that. Travelling has taught me that. Sitting opposite somebody with a microphone between us has taught me that. Even working on an aircraft with hundreds of strangers for a few hours has taught me that.
And after all those encounters, I keep returning to something remarkably simple.
We have two eyes, two ears and one mouth.
Watch more. Listen more. Speak when there is something worth saying.
Connection doesn’t begin by making yourself heard. It begins by paying attention.
Perhaps that person sitting opposite you needs to talk. Perhaps they need to laugh. Perhaps they need somebody to notice them. Perhaps they don’t need anything from you at all.
Learning the difference is part of connecting.
For me, it comes down to four words.
Breathe. Listen. Watch. Act.
And sometimes the most powerful part of that last instruction is knowing when to do nothing.
