When I was in college my stepfather often told me that it is more important to be interested than interesting. I didn't really understand what he meant, and I didn't give the concept much thought. However, over the last year the importance of the distinction between those words has become apparent -- as important, as Mark Twain once said, as the difference between lightning and a lightning bug. As I think about the difference between being interested and being interesting, it occurs to me that those who are genuinely interested hold a considerable advantage over those who labor mightily to be interesting.
A recent meeting with one of my good friends from college, Hannah, was a key to my new understanding of the point. Hannah had been my neighbor freshman year, and over four years has become one of my closest friends.
After spending an afternoon reminiscing about our college adventures and updating each other on the evolution of our lives, I couldn't help but marvel at the tight bond we have cultivated. Our friendship did not manifest itself the way most friendships in college do -- through mutual interests, attendance at the same parties, or shared majors. Hannah was a double major, Theater and English, and I was a Business major. We both had different interests, travelled in different social circles, and after freshman year never lived in the same building. In many ways we had very little in common.
Now, as I find myself graduated, out in the world, and looking to make the same kind of lasting and meaningful relationships, I wonder what makes my bond with Hannah so powerful? How did our relationship transcend a lack of shared interests?
I believe that the answer lies in the fact that the foundation of our relationship was not built on superficial things, like the fact that we both like the Red Sox or Harry Potter, but, rather, it was the product of something much stronger than shared interests -- it was built on years of shared conversations.
Hannah is an important friend because she listens and asks questions. And the key to Hannah's considerable power as a true friend and confidant is that she listens in ways that few people do -- she gives me her undivided attention, challenges my opinions and assumptions, and makes my story the focal point of the conversation. Only interested people do that. And interested people force you to think, reflect -- and evolve.
The truth is that often in our darkest times we are not even looking for feedback or advice, but rather someone to simply listen to us, empathize with our plight, and point us in the right direction. Sometimes all it takes is a really great listener to turn a life around.
Robert Coles, professor emeritus at Harvard University, renowned child psychiatrist, Pulitzer Prize winner, and recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, is the author of The Call of Stories: Teaching and the Moral Imagination, a book that takes a very personal look at the power of storytelling and personal narratives to enhance understanding and empathy. Coles recalls an invaluable piece of advice he had received from one of his early mentors at Massachusetts General Hospital, Dr. Ludwig. He said, "The people who come to see us bring us their stories. They hope they tell them well enough so that we understand the truth of their lives. They hope we know how to interpret their stories correctly. We have to remember that what we hear is their story."
What is critical here is the shift from the importance of the storyteller to the responsibility and significance of the story receiver. When we talk about our lives and experiences to one another in-person, as I do with Hannah, that face-to-face exchange is not just interactive -- it's interpersonal. Active listening demands that we give and receive a multitude of sensory and emotional cues -- teaching us to listen deeply, to develop a sense of empathy, and, in some cases, to gauge what is right or wrong.
In that sense, then, being genuinely interested isn't just a function of being polite; it is a kind of moral action that acknowledges the basic human need for understanding and connection.