There is a story has come up for me in various ways over the past few weeks. I’ve been referencing it in thought and in conversations. It feels rich with many lessons, but the one that has stayed with me most is clarity in communication.
The story, in short, is about a well-meaning teacher who sends his colleagues a message about handling negative emotions—comparing them to storms that come and go, and suggesting mindfulness as a way to navigate them. The message was intended as helpful. However, the other teachers interpreted it as criticism. They became offended, reacted emotionally, and completely missed the original intention of the message.
That alone was enough to stop me in my tracks.
This week alone there were at least five occasions at work and three at home where I was listening intently to another person and either during the communication or shortly thereafter realized there was more than one way to interpret what was being said. Yesterday I interrupted an ongoing written chat to suggest that it’s difficult to get what is inside one person’s head into another’s and asked if we could verbally communicate instead.
Since reading and discussing this story, I’ve been picking up the phone and turning on my camera far more often than before to make sure I am actually on the same page as the other person.
This reading also opened my eyes to how often there is a disconnect between what is said and what is understood. I just hadn’t noticed it before. It becomes even more apparent when communication is in writing.
Something else struck me when discussing this story with others. A member of my writing group pointed out the phrase “well-meaning teacher.” A simple question was asked: would the story have been interpreted differently had those words not been there?
My answer is yes—absolutely.
It made me realize how much intention matters, but also how invisible it is. As a third-party observer (the reader), we can see the teacher’s intent clearly. But when we are inside the situation ourselves, we often cannot. We fill in the blanks with our own assumptions.
I would like to say that in the past I always considered multiple perspectives and intentions neutrally, but that wouldn’t be honest.
I know I often tried. I know sometimes I put myself in another person’s shoes. And occasionally I imagined both sides of an argument. But in everyday communication, I assumed I understood—and that I was being understood.
Something about this story flipped that assumption for me.
Recently, I’ve been approaching communication with the opposite mindset: that I probably don’t fully understand, and I’m probably not being fully understood.
So what does this mean?
It means we need to pay more attention—not just to what we are saying, but to how we are listening.
At this point, I can imagine someone saying:
“That sounds complicated. I don’t have time or patience to think about everything I say or how it might be interpreted.”
And honestly, I can’t completely disagree. What I’m describing does take more effort and more time than I used to give it.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize how necessary—and worthwhile—that effort is. It’s an investment in saving time, building trust, and fostering peace.
This next part might sound like a shift, but it’s not entirely separate.
Over the last year, I changed my political affiliation to unaffiliated. I came to realize that most people are not as far apart as it seems. The majority of people don’t want violence, suffering, or division. But we reduce complex issues to quick labels and assumptions about each other’s intentions.
Aligning and dividing becomes the easy solution.
And much of that division is based on misunderstanding.
What I am describing is a very human response. But that doesn’t make it helpful—and it certainly doesn’t foster peace.
We are not really taught how to listen with the intent to understand.
It takes effort to consider how your words might be received. It takes even more effort to sit with a point of view you don’t like, or to remain engaged when something makes you uncomfortable.
But avoiding that work—responding quickly, assuming intent, or retreating into our own perspective—only deepens the divide.
What struck me most about the story is the irony: the teacher’s message about emotions was completely lost because of emotions.
Instead of exploring the idea—that emotions come and go like weather—the focus shifted to perceived intention.
And that happens all the time.
We miss the substance of what is being said because we are reacting to how we think it was meant.
It’s a new year. I gave up on New Year’s resolutions a while ago, but I will never give up on wanting to be a better human and leaving the space I take up in the world better than I found it.
If you’re looking for something to work on, perhaps consider this:
The next time you find yourself in the middle of a conversation or conflict, try stepping outside of it—just for a moment—and imagine you are the reader of the story, not the character in it.
What might you see differently?
And perhaps, when you feel a storm coming on, you might even remember the original message that started all of this.
Happy New Year.
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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