I'm Listening to You. I Am. But Please, for the Love of All That Is Good...Finish Your Sentence.

I want to start by saying...

I am listening to you.

Really.

Mostly.

Kind of.

Okay, let's say I'm listening at somewhere around 73%.

The other 27% is currently occupied wondering if I remembered to order paper towels, mentally rehearsing a conversation I need to have on Thursday, deciding whether fish have feelings, and trying to remember where I put my reading glasses.

Which, ironically...

...are on my head.

Again.

Please don't mistake this for disinterest.

I'm interested.

Very interested.

In fact, I might be too interested.

Because while you're telling me your story...

My brain is already connecting it to seventeen other stories.

"Oh! That reminds me..."

Except I don't say that.

Because I'm trying to let you finish.

Trying.

Here's the problem.

Some people...

Pause.

A lot.

They tell stories like they're being paid by the dramatic silence.

"So then...

...

...

I walked into the store...

...

...

And you'll never guess who I saw..."

Meanwhile, my brain has already guessed.

Thirty-four times.

I've imagined your ex.

Your boss.

Taylor Swift.

A llama wearing sunglasses.

Three people I went to high school with.

And somehow...

Abraham Lincoln.

Don't ask.

I don't know either.

The longer the pause...

The louder my brain gets.

"Maybe they're done."

"No...don't interrupt."

"They're definitely done."

"Wait...they're breathing."

"Maybe now?"

"Nope. False alarm."

Having a conversation with me is basically competing with an over-caffeinated game show announcer.

Then there's the moment...

The moment when I know exactly what you're about to say.

Or at least I think I do.

My brain practically tackles me.

"Say it! Say it! We know the ending!"

So I interrupt.

Not because I'm rude.

Because my ADHD has all the impulse control of a Labrador who just heard the word "treat."

The really frustrating part?

Sometimes I'm wrong.

You'll be halfway through a sentence and I'll enthusiastically finish it.

Except...

I finish it with the wrong ending.

Now we've both forgotten what you were actually trying to say.

Congratulations.

We've created conversational chaos.

Here's another fun feature.

While you're talking...

I'm trying so hard to listen that I become deeply invested in maintaining eye contact.

Too invested.

Now I'm wondering...

"Am I making too much eye contact?"

Should I blink?

People blink, right?

I've been staring at this poor person for what feels like an eternity.

Blink.

Too much blinking?

Oh no...

I missed the last sentence.

People think listening is passive.

For my brain...

It's an Olympic sport.

I'm listening to you. And…

Filtering out the air conditioner.

Ignoring the dog licking himself across the room.

Trying not to notice that one picture frame is slightly crooked.

Wondering whether I turned the coffee maker off.

Feeling my sock bunching up inside my shoe.

And somehow...

Still trying to remember your cousin's name.

It's Karen.

No.

Lauren.

Wait...

Something with an "-en."

And then...

You say something that reminds me of something.

Now I have a choice.

If I don't say it immediately...

It will disappear forever.

Gone.

Evaporated.

Lost somewhere between the paper towels and the emotionally offended fish.

So I interrupt.

Not because your story isn't important.

Because my thought has the lifespan of a soap bubble.

The older I've gotten, the more I've realized that conversations aren't difficult because I don't care.

They're difficult because...

I care enough to want to stay with you.

My brain just keeps trying to drag me onto side quests.

It's like trying to watch a movie while someone changes the channel every twelve seconds.

I've learned a few tricks.

If you're telling me something important...

I put my phone down.

I turn off the TV.

I look at you.

If I think of something I want to say...

I literally hold onto it in my head like it's a slippery fish trying to escape.

Sometimes it works.

Sometimes the fish wins.

So if you've ever been talking to me and I've accidentally interrupted...

Or finished your sentence.

Or asked you to repeat something because my brain briefly wandered off to wonder whether penguins have knees...

Please know...

It was never because I didn't want to hear you.

Quite the opposite.

My brain simply has the attention span of a squirrel...

Driving a school bus...

Full of squirrels.

Now...

What were we talking about?

Oh, right.

Listening.

Sorry.

I got distracted.

By my own article.