When people tell me their stories I listen as one that sees a canvas being unrolled and a picture being painted.
I wince at my past behaviour: While they were still painting the picture I would start splashing paint onto that canvas. Poke my fingers onto it and dabble. Smearing my opinions all over. Imposing my reality onto their canvas.
Now I practice waiting. Waiting to be invited into another's reality. I am now privileged to hear deeper and richer stories from others.