How a sales course taught me how to have more meaningful conversations & deepen my relationships

As you can see from my fantastic wallet, shown above, I hate small talk. By which I mean: shallow verbal interactions where nothing important or memorable is said.

But this winter I signed up for a sales course at Mountain Hub, led by Sue-Rose Read of Oneberrie, and I soon realized: I’m the one perpetuating the small talk. It’s my own fault.

And, more importantly: I can fix it.

Here are some of the insights Sue-Rose offered during that course. If you use them, they can transform your routine interactions too.

First: a look in the mirror

(As demonstrated by this very Medium story …) My default style is to “show up and throw up.” In other words: I have something I’m excited about, whether it’s an idea or an adventure or whatever, and I shout it from the rooftops, assuming that the right people will hear me and benefit from what I’m sharing. A classic Heather interaction with a friend or acquaintance sounds like this:

HEATHER: “Hi. Do you know about [my Passion of the Week]? Let me tell you all about it.”

Or, if it’s a casual interaction, like seeing a familiar face at the grocery store, I tend to comment on the weather.

Yes, I’m that person.

Partly this is because I often mis-remember people’s names, and because I never know what to talk to people about other than my own Passion of the Week, and so I try to mask my social awkwardness with generic chit chat.

When it comes to listening to other people, I am consciously working at this skill (my husband, Brock, was a fantastic listener), but my instincts are to point out the silver lining of a sad tale, or come up with an action plan to fix the problem.

This is not what good listeners do.

Sue-Rose’s secret weapon: questions

Listening isn’t just silently nodding as someone else speaks: it’s asking questions.

We can ask questions:

to dig deeper into what the other person is saying,
to steer the conversation in a direction that interests us,
to prolong the conversation, which gives us time to really think about what the other person is saying, and
as an exercise is looking outward, rather than inward.

Curb your instincts

In a conversation, maybe (like me) your first instinct is to:

solve the problem;
match a story/statement with our own story/statement (or, worse, try to top the other person’s story somehow); or
answer a question, when it’s asked.

Instead, we can:

ask targeted questions (“how did that happen?”), or say: “tell me more about that.”
Meet a question with our own question: “That’s an interesting/good question. Why do you ask?”

I picture this sort of conversation being like a friendly hot-potato game: the challenge is to keep the talking-potato in the other person’s hands for as long as possible. To keep them talking. We (both) “win” when we really listen to what they’re saying, and ask good questions to demonstrate our interest.

Planning a conversation

For scheduled conversations, such as coffee dates with friends, a work meeting, or a family dinner, you can plan some questions in advance. Try to start a conversation with a question, rather than with a statement or by sharing your own story. (Or, if you’re like me, preaching about your Passion of the Week.)

Even small-talk-style interactions can be planned ahead: when you leave your house to head to the grocer’s, have some questions in mind. Instead of the bland “how are you?”, you could ask: “do you have any plans for spring break?” or “what does your family like to do in the winter?”

Why is small talk bad?

If you’re someone who enjoys connecting with other people, this “questions” approach takes you beyond the superficial: it deepens and increases the quality of your interactions, and of your relationships.

If you’re a preacher/cheerleader-type of person like me, who loves connecting people with useful information, asking questions allows you to better understand that person’s unique situation and needs. The information you might eventually offer will be more relevant and useful.

And, because you’ve connected with the person by having a meaningful conversation, they won’t feel like they’ve been preached or sold to.

Writer vs. good listener

I love my funny wallet, but I’m embarrassed by it now: I know that small-talk interactions are my own missed opportunities. My wallet has become a reminder to START with questions, and to be a better listener.

In fact, I’m painfully aware, with the wallet sitting beside my desktop now, that this post is another “show up & throw up” situation.

I’ll strive to demonstrate and practice my new listening/conversational skills when I respond to your comments. Please, go ahead: post a comment and let’s see how I do.

(Thank you so very much to my patrons for aiding & abetting my website & Medium stories.)

I met with a counsellor last month, and one of the resonate-y pieces of wisdom she offered was for me to ask myself: “What am I not willing to feel?”

She meant this as a question for all of us to consider, at all times in our lives — it’s not just special wisdom for us widows.

I love this question. It echoed in my head throughout our session.

Epiphany: the five-year-old has feelings

We starting talking about my son at the end of our appointment, because I wanted him to meet with someone to help him with his hitting habit.

Oh, and also with any dad-grief thoughts he might be having at five years old.

My counsellor asked me how Isaac felt about his dad’s death.

My immediate response was: “He didn’t feel anything, He was too young.”

But of course that can’t be right. Even babies are affected by whether or not a caregiver answers their cries. We’re never too young to be scarred.

My brain knows Isaac must have experienced emotions while his dad had cancer, from ages one to four, and must have feelings now about the loss and lack of his dad. But I’ve never seen him cry or get upset when we talk about Brock, so I assumed Brock’s sickness and death were just more events in Isaac’s life. Like moving houses.

Yet … there’s the hitting, specifically of family members he loves and trusts. Those random explosions of bottled up fury, or sometimes even joy.

I realized I’ve never asked Isaac how he FEELS about his dad. In fact, I never ask Isaac how he feels about anything. We have a shelf stocked with books about feelings, and yet I’ve somehow failed in my role as emotional educator.

I assumed Isaac would be nervous about this ride, and told him we would go as slowly as he wanted. He kept saying: “faster, mom!” and finally just grabbed the control stick himself.

“What am I not willing to feel?”

I’m scared to discover that Isaac DOES have feelings about his dad’s cancer and death. I don’t want those three years to have damaged my kid. I don’t want to think that Brock and I made a wrong choice during those years, or that I did something wrong after Brock’s death.

I don’t want to have regrets.

And I’m nervous to discuss Isaac’s feelings about his dad, because I don’t want to poke at my own feelings.

Being a friend: “What Would Brock Do?”

One day, in 2016, I was feeling sad or frustrated about something, and Brock let me vent it all out. He was always a fantastic listener (after he died, many people commented on this Super Power of his in their cards and Facebook posts), and this particular time I felt incredible gratitude and catharsis after he let me talk.

He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t try to help, he didn’t try to broaden my perspective. He just listened.

Because I was free to talk out my thoughts, I was able to see my own limitations (eventually). I was able to broaden my own perspective. Just by listening, Brock helped me feel better.

It was a memorable experience. It felt like he’d given me a gift, just by listening and being present with me, and I thanked him. I wanted to be able to do that for my friends and family — to be that kind of listener.

And yet, the other night a friend called, with drama happening in his life and, instead of listening, I tried to help. Specifically, I pointed out the silver lining, I offered different perspectives, and I tried to come up with an action plan to “fix” things.

Ugh.

While this response might be helpful in some ways, I am NOT being the good friend and listener I want to be. I am not continuing Brock’s legacy. I am not growing as a person, and becoming a better friend.

I want to be a friend who can be present and listen. I want my friends to feel validated and heard.

“What am I not willing to feel?”

When a friend is sad, my first instinct is to make them happy again. I want to point out all the good things in their life, and help them “fix” their problem. Being present with negative feelings (sadness, anger) sounds stagnant to me — let’s move on.

This is how I got through three years of watching cancer kill my husband.

When I tried to distract my friend from his feelings, I was projecting my own need onto him: I assumed he didn’t want to FEEL his feelings, just as I try to avoid my own.

A fear of intimacy

I’ve written about this before — I have a hard time talking about my feelings, aside from on this website. My counsellor’s question, “What am I not willing to feel?,” helped me realize that I don’t like FEELING. I’m uncomfortable feeling anything other than happy or content.

And: I tend to assume my friends and family are like me, that they don’t want to FEEL things.

Regardless, I’m uncomfortable hearing about and feeling their feelings. Which is why I never ask my son how he’s feeling, and why I try to distract my loved ones from their emotions.

Somewhere along the way I put up an emotional wall: so that I could survive motherhood, so that I could survive watching Brock die over three years … or maybe before all of that. This wall stays up out of habit, and also to protect myself and this new life we’re creating.

Once again, I’m astonished and excited to realize I still have things to learn at age 39. I’m re-inspired to strive to listen like Brock could, to give my loved ones that gift of being heard. And I’m grateful to my counsellor for giving me this tool of self-reflection: “What am I not willing to feel?” is something to ask myself in every situation.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Are you a good listener? Are there feelings you prefer to avoid? Please post a comment, share this post online or read more posts on this website.

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Heather McLeod

Tag Archives: listening

Small Talk is My Fault