That One Word

Wendy and I looked at each other with mouths agape.
We hadn’t expected that.

After 2 hours and 25 minutes of Spielberg…
the whole film ended on a single word.
Just one.

Margaret stood up.
Walked slowly towards the microphone.
Looked directly into the camera.
Opened her mouth.

And then…
Bang.
The film was over.

After all that time… those scenes… that work…
Spielberg trusted a single word to carry the weight of the whole story.

Yet as the credits rolled, I realised why it had hit me so hard.

Because that one word has become the heartbeat of much of my life.
Much of my work.
Much of my thinking.

Yet I didn’t learn its importance in a classroom.
Or from a book.
Or from a film.

I learned it the hard way.
Through pain. Through tears.
Through hurting somebody I loved.

The memory still haunts me… more than a decade later.

We were sitting almost opposite one another.
She on one settee. Me on the other.

She was upset. Really upset.

Tears flowed as she tried to explain the confusion she was feeling.

And I listened. No, really… I did.
At least I thought I did.
For a while.

Then I did what many of us do when somebody we care about is hurting.
I reached for a solution.
You know… a suggestion.
Something practical.
Something that would, well, help.

Or so I thought.

The room erupted.

“Will you just stop trying to fix me!
I didn’t ask for your advice, did I?
I just want to know that you hear me.
Really hear me.”

Silence.

Those words landed with a force I wasn’t expecting.
Because in that moment I realised something.

I hadn’t really been hearing her at all.
Not in the way she needed.
Not in the way that mattered.

I had been waiting for my turn.
Waiting to improve things.
Waiting to solve the problem.
Waiting to be useful.

As leaders, as financial planners, we tend to do that. Don’t we?

Yet in doing so…
I had completely missed what was actually being asked of me.
To hear.
Really hear.

It sounds so simple.
Yet when I look back across my life, I can see how often I have failed at it.

Oh! I wish… I so wish…
I wish I had understood it earlier.
I wish I had learned it younger.
I wish somebody had sat me down years before and explained what I now know.

Not because it would have removed every problem.
It wouldn’t.

Not because it would have prevented every disagreement.
It wouldn’t.

But because so much unnecessary pain grows in the space between speaking…
and truly being heard.

Which is why that final scene hit me so hard.

Because Spielberg wasn’t really talking about Margaret.
At least, not only about Margaret.

He was talking about marriages.
Families.
Friendships.
Teams.
Communities.
Perhaps even nations.

He was talking about that deep human longing we all carry.
The longing to know that somebody sees us.
Somebody hears us.
Somebody understands.

Not eventually.
Not after they’ve finished fixing us.
Not after they’ve explained why we’re wrong.

Now.
In this moment.
As we are.

And so Wendy and I sat there in silence as the credits rolled.
Thinking.
Remembering.
Reflecting.

Because suddenly that one word seemed to contain far more than a film.
Far more than a message.
Perhaps even far more than a lifetime of lessons.

You know the word, don’t you?
I suspect you do.
You don’t need me to spell it out.

That one word.
It is…
?