Tommy, can you hear me . . .

Today I was eavesdropping on a conversation in which one person was talking about their fears about the future. The other person listened gravely, and then said, "I hear you."

I assume the person was trying to be sympathetic and supportive, but I hate that phrase. When I am pouring my heart and soul out to you, for Crandell's sake don't go and say "you hear me." My cats hear me. Birds hear me. On some level insects hear me. I don't want someone to hear me. What I want is someone to understand me, or at least try to.

The problem with the statement, "I hear you," is that it effectively ends the conversation. There is really nothing to say in response. They heard your original statement and the implication is that anything further would be a waste of the listener's time. Perhaps it is indicative of how uncaring people have really become. They no longer feel the need to even pretend they care enough to try and understand your problems, but consider having heard your cry of anguish to be sufficient. "Yes, yes. I heard you say you're afraid of losing your job, now consider yourself loved. I usually don't even listen."

And while we're at it:

Don't say you want to share something with me, and then tell me about it. If you describe to me the wonderful flavors of the perfectly-normal-beast sandwich you had the other day you are not sharing it with me. Sharing means you give me a portion of the sandwich. Then we can share the experience. If you tell me about it the best I can do is empathize with you. So if you want to share with me the sunset over the Inland Sea you bloody well better have airline tickets and a hotel reservation, otherwise you're just going to describe it to me.

But then I'm old and stodgy enough to still think 'gay' means lively or bright.