21 Nov Does Anybody Hear Me?
It’s a few days after Veteran’s Day, and a man a few tables away from me at the coffee shop sits alone, his hands wrapped around a white mug. He’s wearing a faded military veteran’s hat, and he seems lost in thought.
The barista, cheerful and chatty, stops by as she wipes crumbs from the tables. “Thank you for your service! Did you do anything fun to celebrate Veteran’s Day?”
The man offers a polite smile. “Not really,” he says softly, his voice barely above a murmur. He hesitates, then adds, “I don’t much go for all the parades and barbecues. It’s not always easy…” His words trail off as he stirs his coffee, avoiding eye contact, as if he knows the conversation has suddenly grown heavier.
The barista, unsure what to say, tries to brighten the moment. “Well, we’re lucky to have people like you who made all that possible,” she says with a smile before moving on to the next table.
The man gives a polite nod, but his expression lingers in my mind. The barista hadn’t done anything wrong—she was kind, even grateful. But at that moment, the man seemed like someone who wanted to be heard and couldn’t find the space to say what he really felt.
It reminded me of a lesser-known story about Carl Rogers, the renowned psychologist and pioneer of the person-centered movement. During WWII, Rogers was asked to help the U.S. Air Force evaluate the morale of combat gunners. He began by doing what he did best: listening. Patiently, without judgment, he gave the men his full attention.
At first, the gunners were hesitant to speak. Over time, though, they began to open up. They began to speak freely about their anger and resentment, especially toward civilians who seemed untouched by the war. One pilot described going to a football game and feeling enraged at the carefree atmosphere, so distant from the horrors he had endured.
These feelings, Rogers realized, had been buried because the men believed they were unacceptable—wrong to feel and impossible to share. But their pain wasn’t just about the civilians’ actions; it was about the isolation of feeling like their experiences didn’t belong anywhere. Rogers recommended a simple but profound approach: leadership needed to listen and create space for the men to express themselves without fear of judgment. He likened it to someone trapped in a dark cell, tapping out a Morse code message: Does anybody hear me? Until, one day, faint tappings reply, spelling out: Y-E-S.
Back at the coffee shop, I turned to the man and said, “This time of year can be difficult.”
He looked up, surprised, and after a moment, nodded. “It sure can be,” he said quietly.
We sat in that brief silence, and I thought about how listening is one of the most accessible forms of connection we have.
Even a quiet moment of listening can be enough to say: I hear you