Bad Listener

The greatest criticism of me and my life is that I don’t listen. I didn’t listen to my teachers in school, I haven’t heard a word my parents have ever said, and now I don’t listen to the people at work or at home. I just don’t listen.

I don’t listen when you tell me your name (happens to the best of us, I’m sure). I don’t listen to safety instructions on airplanes (I know I really should, even if it’s just once), or when someone gives me directions I’ve specifically asked for. And more often than not, I’m not listening to a word coming out of your mouth.

But here’s the thing—I also don’t listen to the never-haves and the patriarchs, the naysayers and the misogynists. I don’t listen to the rules drawn up by people no smarter than me. I don’t listen to the idiots doling out unsolicited advice on wifehood, parenthood, and all the other -hoods (some I’ve come to live in, others I’ve come to be).

I especially don’t listen when the bigots start talking—and man, oh man, have I told you about my ability to tune out the white noise that is a man writing up a rulebook on how women should behave?

I don’t listen when you tell me there’s a gender pay gap. I don’t listen when you tell me I can’t have it all. I don’t listen when they say I’m not qualified, and I also don’t listen when, come bonus season, my CEO tells us that business is bad. I don't listen to the news (but I hang onto every word from Faye)

Actually, if you think about it, the only time I’m really listening is when my daughter goes, "GUUUHHH GUH GUH."

And don’t get me wrong—I know it’s a terrible quality to have. I mean, haven’t we all read the multitude of encyclopaedias that, in great detail, outline how beneficial a trait being a good listener is?

It’s just that… I’ve actively chosen not to fix this very obvious flaw of mine.

You know... since the world needs to be tuned out most of the time anyway.