The invisible work of deep listening.

I wasn't always a good listener. Not to others. Not to myself. It did not come to me naturally, either. There was a time when my mind was full. Not in a creative and expansive way but just cluttered with thoughts. Like thoughts crashing into each other, all demanding attention at once.

One day, exhausted by the noise, I stepped out to get some air. With no phone, no agenda, I just walked and walked. And somewhere along the way, I decided to pay attention beyond the noise.

That's when something shifted. I heard a crow cawing far in the distance. A neighbour’s gate opening and closing as someone came out. A motorcycle honking somewhere. Dry leaves rustling beneath my steps. These were all tiny sounds. Nothing profound. But suddenly, they landed.

In that moment, my mind did not feel like a crowd. It felt like a field. Still, open and quiet. That’s when I realised: real listening isn’t about effort. It’s about presence. That was 8 years ago. And since then, I've been practising deep listening.

Over the years, I've tried to notice the story behind the words, in the gaps between them, in the tone, in the things people say casually, but actually mean deeply. We spend so much time trying to say things right to explain, to express or to craft the perfect sentence. But here’s the thing: the words that really stay with people usually come from a quieter place. A place of clarity.

Today, listening with intent has become a part of me. I listen to understand and gain clarity. I help people write what they truly mean, the kind of truth that lingers. You can call it content or you can call it connection. Deep listening is everything.

That day, I didn’t solve anything big. But I discovered something small and powerful: When the noise fades, there’s a lot to hear. Most of the time, people don’t need better words. They just need space to find them.