“So, what do you do for a living?”
A woman in her eighties asked me that question in a neighborhood café in a small development town after noticing me sitting with a laptop and headphones—a very unusual sight for the area.
“I listen to people,” I replied.
“What? That is your job?” she asked in surprise, raising her eyebrows. “What kind of job is that? Are you a psychologist? Then why do you have a computer and headphones?”
“I am not a psychologist,” I answered with a smile. “I do not tell people what is right or wrong, because there is no single correct path. The secret of listening is to ask questions without words and allow the answers to come from within. I hear stories, emotions, and sometimes secrets. People open their hearts—and their scars.”
She sat down across from me, curious. “Listening? Is that really a profession?”
“Sometimes people need a place to speak, somewhere they can share without being judged. It can be about anything: a crisis, success, an opportunity, the past, or the future,” I explained.
She folded her hands and seemed to consider my words. “You know, I remember when I was young. I thought life was simple, but over time I realized how complicated it is. People do not always talk about what troubles them.”
“That is true,” I agreed. “People often carry things with them for years. When I listen, I feel that I become part of their journey.”
“And how does that affect you?” she asked, her lips forming a gentle smile.
“It requires me to be sensitive and nonjudgmental. The human soul is like a volcano simmering beneath the surface. Emotions and desires lie hidden there, waiting to erupt. Sometimes all is quiet, but when the lid gives way, the eruption reveals an inner beauty and power—like flowing lava spreading heat and light, fire and fear in a powerful, once-in-a-lifetime sight,” I replied. “Even after the saddest conversations, I leave with hope. That is how I learned about the strength of our humanity.”
“Do you adapt yourself to the situation?” she asked. “What do you do when someone tells you something you disagree with? When in Rome, do as the Romans do?” she added with a cynical smile.
“No,” I answered. “When you listen to so many people’s life stories, you develop the ability to see Rome from a bird’s-eye view and recognize the cracks in the empire. Not everything is black and white.”
She laughed. I do not think she understood exactly what I meant, because she began telling me about the only man she had ever loved. Rome had reminded her of him.
For forty minutes she spoke about him. She described him in such detail that I felt as though I knew him. She did not miss a single thing. She turned emotions into words and gave names to the smallest, most painful, and happiest details.
She placed her hand over mine and looked at me with warm eyes.
“Perhaps that is what this world needs—more listening and empathy.”
