Over the past few weeks, I have been observing my garden and the changes the new season brings – as I have said before, I don’t enjoy Autumn; I find that it brings with it a feeling of gentle melancholy even when, as today, the skies are blue and the trees are golden…
Life is a subjective experience, so it can be very hard for us to observe things without telling ourselves a story to go with what we are seeing – to “delete, distort and generalise”, as the saying goes. On my courses, I will often illustrate this by showing an object to my students (recently this was a knitted pumpkin…) and asking what thoughts came to mind. One lady said she wanted to squeeze it; it reminded her of childhood – and another lady said she was concerned about the materials used, and whether it might contribute to environmental harm… two very different opinions about the same object!
In Mindful Communication, the first step in transforming how we relate to others – and to ourselves – is learning how to observe what is actually happening. I can see the leaves are changing colour, for example – it is the stories I tell myself about that, that are creating how I feel about it.
Marshall Rosenberg, the founder of Nonviolent Communication (NVC), described observation as the foundation of compassionate dialogue. Before we can express how we feel, or understand what we need, we must first notice what is actually happening – without judgement, evaluation, or interpretation.
It sounds simple, but it’s one of the hardest skills to master.
An observation is what we can see or hear – the tangible, sensory facts of a situation. A judgement is what we think about those facts. So, “You interrupted me twice while I was speaking” is an observation, and, “You’re so rude” is a judgement.
When we describe what we see, others are more likely to hear us. When we describe what we think about what we see, they are more likely to defend themselves.
In everyday communication, most of us blur that line constantly – especially when emotions run high. We use phrases like, “You never listen,” “She was so aggressive,” or, “They don’t care.” Yet none of these are observations; they’re interpretations, filtered through our emotions, expectations and experiences – in other words, our story.
Observation is not just about language, however, it’s about presence… In Mindful Communication, we practise observing without evaluating as a way of coming home to the present moment. We learn to notice what is actually happening right now, rather than reacting to our assumptions or stories about what’s happening.
This invites a kind of inner spaciousness: a pause between stimulus and response. It allows us to listen more deeply, both to others and to ourselves.
Mindful observation also asks that we turn the lens inward. Can I observe my own sensations, emotions, and thoughts without rushing to label them as good or bad? Can I notice, “My heart is racing,” rather than, “I shouldn’t feel anxious”?
As Viktor Frankl wrote, “Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space lies our power to choose our response.” Observation helps us find that space, and therefore gives us time to respond, rather than react.
In conversation, observation is the gateway to empathy. When we truly see another person – without judgement or projection – we create a space where they can begin to see themselves more clearly too.
When we’re observed rather than evaluated, we feel safer. We no longer need to defend or justify ourselves – and this is where connection begins.
As Oren Jay Sofer reminds us, “Awareness is the primary foundation for all communication.” Awareness begins with observation. This is the heart of Mindful Communication; meeting each moment as it is, not as we imagine it to be, or as we want it to be.
So I will practise observing – observing the leaves changing colour and falling to the ground… Observing the sunset and sunrise, and feeling grateful for both, without judgement. I will practise not telling myself stories about the approaching “dark days before Christmas”, but instead just being present with the light and the dark – and somewhere in that space I will find balance.
