Read an Excerpt
Introduction
To Listen Is to Understand
Charlotte was quiet, and so was I. We were sitting in the research lab, in front of a one-way mirror through which my team was observing the session. We had reached a crucial point in our conversation about a difficult and often- taboo topic: personal finances.
It’s often easier to talk about pictures than to talk about something so intimate, so for this study on budgeting, I had asked participants to collect images of their ideal financial future to help guide our discussions. Each participant had a different vision for themselves. Some brought in pictures of luxury cars and extravagant homes to represent a future with more money than they needed, while others, like Charlotte, shared images that showed they aimed for that middle-class dream of home ownership and organic groceries. Still others brought images that indicated they longed for the bare necessities, like getting out of debt and out of the canned food aisle.
From my conversation with Charlotte so far, I knew that she was tired. She had quit a job she loved after having a baby to raise her son full time. Now, she filled her days with childcare and household planning while her husband worked. With a single salary and a third mouth to feed, her family budget had to be measured carefully. Every week she compared deals across local grocery stores, shopped creatively to keep her budget in check, and meal planned according to what was on sale. Every grocery run was carefully documented for her husband, who regularly reviewed their spending in an effort to keep their budget on track.
Some people enjoy the conquest of finding the best deals and will share these stories with pride and a glow in their eyes, but not Charlotte. She dutifully shared the necessary details with me, but I could tell she was not enjoying our conversation. She had increasingly begun to avoid eye contact, and her responses, once clear, were now little more than a mumble. My co‑workers in the back room pinged me on Slack, “Can you ask her to speak up? Hard to hear back here.”
When I asked Charlotte what she thought it would take to get to her ideal financial state—shopping for fancy cheese at gourmet markets instead of the sales at Safeway—she gave me what I knew was a surface-level answer, the kind you give to quickly placate someone without actually saying what you mean. Just like saying “fine” when someone asks you how you’re doing, when you’re actually having the worst day ever.
“More budgeting, I guess,” she said. Then, she was silent, even a bit sullen. She sighed and looked away.
Sensing her unease, I wanted to let Charlotte off the hook and move on to the next topic. Part of me even wanted to bail her out entirely and say, “We’re all done here. Have a great day!” I wanted to interrupt wherever her train of thought was going— because it looked like it was a very stressful place. But I knew that if I did, I’d lose my chance to hear what she needed to say. So instead of moving on, I waited. Five seconds turned into ten seconds, and ten seconds turned into twenty. The silence felt interminable. I focused on my breathing, in and out, in and out, and waited some more. She turned to look at me, and I softly, quietly, held eye contact. And just when things began to feel really awkward, Charlotte spoke.
“I guess I don’t know how we’ll get there,” she said. “We want to buy a home, but it’s hard enough deal- hunting for groceries. Anything beyond that feels impossible—I’m not sure more budgeting can change that.”
Charlotte stopped, but I sensed she had more to say, so I summarized aloud what I had heard.
“It sounds like a difficult balance, to manage both your near- term needs and future dreams,” I said.
“You have no idea,” she said, and she proceeded to open up about her fears and frustrations.
A Researcher’s Tool Kit
For the past seven years, I have refined my listening skills as a user researcher, manager, and mentor at some of Silicon Valley’s top tech companies. My job is to understand the people who use or could someday use the various products we build, from mobile apps and websites to in‑home devices and on‑the‑go experiences. With every conversation, I am required to quickly connect with strangers—sometimes on topics they don’t want to talk about, and often in front of an audience—and discover what makes them tick, what drives them nuts, and how and why our products play a role in their lives. It’s a challenging task, but a good researcher makes it feel natural and easy.
I’ve been a user researcher for nearly a decade now, but no matter how many sessions I’ve run, every interview has a moment like Charlotte’s: a participant is on the verge of sharing something important, until their emotions, temperament, focus, or even a desire to please get in the way, causing them to shut down and clam up. When this happens, every ounce of my body wants to pivot, interrupt, or save participants (and myself) from discomfort.
But I’ve got a job to do. In every study, I have to uncover a specific set of insights that will ensure that my team is building a product that’s actually useful—not just one they assume has potential. I have to know what a participant really thinks, whether by shadowing someone catching a rideshare to learn about their experience with a mobile app (Do they obsessively track their driver’s progress, or do they tuck away their phone and wait it out—and why?), asking a traveler how it feels when a vacation rental listing doesn’t line up with reality to help better set expectations in the future (How inaccurate is too inaccurate? What is considered to be misleading and what’s a simple mistake?), or even prompting a group of participants to critique our app, site, or real- world experience to understand how we can improve it (We know the app could be better—do they think so, too? If so, where should we start?).
So I’ve learned to get comfortable with discomfort. I’ve learned how to lean into it and show the other person that I am interested in what they have to say, and how to confirm my understanding of what I’m hearing in the moment. I’ve learned that to truly connect and understand my participant, I need to stay active in conversation—not by rushing things along or persuading others to come around to my point of view, but by listening thoughtfully to what’s being said, what’s left unsaid, and even what my own inner monologue is saying. Showing up—without engagement, attention, and encouragement—is not enough.
I became a researcher because I am naturally drawn to other people’s stories. The skills I’ve acquired have enabled me to make the space for Charlotte, and countless other participants, to be vulnerable and honest with me, a perfect stranger, about their true feelings on a variety of topics. But what I didn’t know when I first started is that the skills I was learning as a researcher would serve me not just in the lab but outside of it, too. Being patient, asking open- ended questions, facilitating a conversation—these techniques help me get to the bottom of a research question, but they also help me build better relationships with my colleagues, direct reports, family, and loved ones.
Most of us listen well enough, but without deliberate attention we may move through conversation with significant blind spots. It’s easy for us to learn only part of the story, or misunderstand it entirely. Miscommunication can escalate a neutral situation to a negative one, and make an already negative scenario worse. Whether our misses are big or small, when they happen, we may walk away feeling detached and isolated from others rather than connected to them. At a time when our relationships are increasingly mediated through devices that lack the warmth and honesty of a face‑to‑face interaction; when we are moving farther from home, and more frequently; when our social ties are weaker, our anxiety levels higher, and loneliness is on the rise; in a culture of self- promotion, overwork, and political and racial divisiveness; and in the midst of unexpected global crises that keep us not just culturally but physically far apart from each other, we need to feel connected more than ever—and listening provides a way forward.
Too often, we “solve” for miscommunication by focusing only on what we say and how we’re saying it: if we could only get our message across, things would be much easier. As a result, we may decide to adjust our messaging or dial up the volume. But when we focus solely on our capabilities as speakers, we risk turning our conversation partners into an audience rather than equal collaborators. It will be hard for others to relate to us, much less put their trust in us, if that happens.
Instead, if we want to unpack others’ behaviors, motivations, and the way they think about the world, listening can help get us there. When we want to hear someone’s candid feelings on a topic or understand their aspirations in order to best support them, listening is what creates the space someone needs to be honest. When an argument is underway or when we engage with those who hold values or beliefs opposite to our own, thoughtful listening can help us approach them with an open mind rather than push them away. Truly effective listening can even enable others to tell us when we ourselves might be in the wrong. Every conversation is an opportunity to understand and connect with others much more deeply, if we know how to listen.
Becoming a researcher changed my approach to everyday conversation in two ways. First, I began to be more self-aware of my own listening habits, catching myself when my attention or emotions were getting in the way of my hearing others and course correcting in real time. Second, in true researcher form, I began to observe what made others around me effective listeners. These individuals seemed to have many of the qualities we researchers are trained in: curiosity, empathy, and the ability to ask thoughtful questions. This was a helpful observation. It suggested that the traits many of us assume to be innate—and perhaps unattainable if listening does not come to us naturally—could also be acquired.
So I began to experiment, incorporating various listening techniques into my conversations to see what worked and what didn’t. Some techniques fit right into everyday conversation. Others needed minor adjustments to work in the real world, or were better for some scenarios but not others. I also discovered new techniques— techniques I would later bring back into my research practice. Sometimes a technique did not translate into the real world at all. And there were times when my own listening quirks would get in the way.
This book is a distillation of what I learned as I deepened my listening practice—as a user researcher and as a manager but also as a sister, daughter, wife, and friend. It is my road map to becoming a better listener, the result of many hours of conversations with strangers, expert interviews with other professional listeners, and many personal experiments, too. I hope it proves useful as you navigate the relationships in your life, whoever they’re with.
