Listening and observing—similar, but not the same.

I don’t know why this has been living rent-free in my head, but it’s been there long enough that I should probably offer it coffee. 

Which I have. Repeatedly.

Ironically, this mental detour has forced me to listen to myself and observe the outcomes. So far, the results are inconclusive. At least I have coffee to make things less awkward. Coffee doesn’t judge. 

Coffee just nods. It just sits there, warm and dependable, like it’s on my side no matter how this turns out.

That guy in the mirror chimed in earlier to point out that this is a very me paragraph—quiet, inward, a little amused with itself. He said it with confidence, which was unsettling, because I don’t remember giving him a voice or an opinion. Still, he’s not wrong. 

I’ve written variations of this before. Different mornings. Same cup. Same thoughts. Slightly better posture, depending on the day.

Listening and observing. 

I do both. My job requires generous portions of each, often at the same time, and usually before I feel fully assembled as a human being. I listen carefully. I observe closely. I nod at intervals that feel appropriate, hoping no one asks me which part I’m currently doing.

And here’s where things get tricky.

Listening feels active. Observing feels passive. But neither actually is. Listening takes effort—focus, patience, restraint. Observing takes awareness, interpretation, and a strong commitment to not interrupting just because you’ve noticed something interesting. 

Both take energy. Both are easily derailed by internal thoughts like Do I always stand like this? or Is it rude to think about lunch already?

Doing both at once feels like patting your head while rubbing your stomach—except the stakes are higher, there’s no applause, and everyone assumes you know exactly what you’re doing.

Sometimes I listen without observing. I hear the words but miss everything else. Other times I observe without listening—catching tone, posture, glances, and somehow missing the entire sentence. This happens more than I’d like to admit and far more than anyone else probably realizes.

And occasionally—usually before my second cup of coffee—I do neither, while convincing myself I’m doing both exceptionally well. This is not a skill. It’s a talent for self-deception.

Mornings make all of this worse. Silence gives my thoughts a microphone they didn’t ask for. With no one else around, I become both the speaker and the audience. Listening. Observing. Taking mental notes I will never review.

Eventually the day notices me. The coffee runs out. That guy in the mirror clocks out. Listening and observing return to being useful skills instead of philosophical speed bumps I didn’t plan on hitting before breakfast.

Still similar. Still not the same.

Still worth thinking about—just maybe not this much.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.