The art of understanding, part II: Listening with your hands

If you push, you lose

We took our positions across from each other, touched our right hands, and started slowly making circles in the air together.

I had no idea how quickly everything would unravel.

When I started training ‘push hands’ (a Tai Chi practice) with my teacher, I was in decent shape and fairly strong, so I expected to at least do okay.

What I didn’t know is that in push hands, ironically, actually pushing is the fastest way to lose.

At first, I was confident, cocky even. “This is easy,” I thought. “I’ve already got him.” My hand crudely moved his arm toward his body, ready to strike and push him off-balance.

The next second, I was stumbling sideways like a startled toddler, with no clue how I’d lost the upper hand so quickly. In a split second, I went from certain victory to total confusion.

When I looked up, my teacher had barely moved. He stood there calmly, with an almost undetectable smirk on his face.

He had controlled the entire exchange by letting me believe I was in charge. Quietly redirecting my own force. I had been so focused on what I was doing, that I hadn’t even noticed what was actually happening.

Doing too much

The next time we practiced, I came prepared. I was determined to stand firm, resist harder, and hold my ground this time.

As you might imagine, it didn’t work.

The more I pushed, the weaker I seemed to become. The harder I tried to stay in place, the easier I was to move.

I got increasingly frustrated. My teacher didn’t seem to be doing anything. His feet firmly on the ground, his body and movements loose, almost lazy. Yet every time I tensed up to push, I felt myself stumbling into empty space. He was smiling the whole time, while I was only getting more worked up, red, and irritable.

It was frustrating, but I was also starting to realize that there was something to this.

I started seeing glimpses of what was possible with this way of moving, flowing, and responding. At times, it almost felt magical.

But it was also undeniable that, every time I even thought about trying to overpower him, I failed miserably.

The more I pushed, the quicker I lost (my balance and my dignity).

But even though I started realizing that what I was doing wasn’t working, I still couldn’t stop myself from pushing. It was instinctive, automatic, like a reflex I didn’t know how to unlearn.

Listening with your hands

“Even the tiniest pebble can change the direction of the biggest boulder.” — Unknown

At one point, after yet another failed attempt, my teacher observed: “You're not listening.”

He explained that, apart from obvious principles like feeling your feet on the ground and keeping a relaxed posture, Tai Chi push hands is largely about “listening with your hands.”

It’s not about resisting or overpowering but about sensing. Where do I feel pressure? Where is the movement? What’s already happening that I can respond to?

That made sense in theory, but my body still reacted the same way. I was still flying all over the place, impulsively bracing myself, pushing back, and trying to force an opening.

I was so focused on what I was doing that I had no awareness of what he was doing. Looking back, I must have been painfully predictable, making it easy for him to throw me off balance and see me coming from miles away.

To show me what he meant, we practiced a simple exercise. He would throw a very slow punch. Instead of blocking, I would meet his arm lightly, just enough to feel the direction. Then, with minimal force, I would guide it past my body gently, following where it was already going rather than resisting.

That’s when I actually started to get it.

I had been so focused on pushing, resisting, and trying to make something happen that I couldn’t see what was already there. The very effort I was using to ‘win’ was what kept me from actually ‘listening.’

Just follow

At this point, my teacher could see I was still thinking too much. Still trying to control it.

So instead of explaining more, he just said: “Don't resist. Just follow.”

He moved slowly, guiding my arm with the lightest touch. I didn’t block or fight back. I just followed.

And for the first time, when he shifted toward me, I didn’t lose my balance. Amazingly, my arm had just moved back on its own, effortlessly, without any resistance. Moving as if I wasn’t controlling it. And I sort of wasn’t.

Because I wasn’t doing anything, I had the space to feel what he was doing. His direction, his weight, his intent, it wasn’t a mystery anymore. It was all kind of obvious.

I realized I had felt this before, but by accident. There had been an earlier training session where I showed up exhausted. I didn’t have the energy to strategize, control, or try to win.

I let go out of necessity and somehow, I didn’t lose my balance then either. But I had brushed it off as a fluke.

At the time, I didn't understand why. But now, repeating it consciously, I finally did.

The less I tried to control, the more I could feel.

The less I tried to direct, the more I understood what was happening.

Listening isn’t about leading, but about following where things naturally want to go.

It’s about listening to what’s actually being said, instead of trying to control the conversation.

Listen to understand

It’s easy to think that understanding is something we have to work for. We ask the right questions, actively connect the dots, and carefully steer the conversation, believing that effort creates insight.

But when we do that, we aren’t really listening.

Real understanding doesn’t happen because of how much we do, it happens because of how much we make space to notice and receive.

When someone speaks, they’re already moving. There’s already a direction, an energy, a flow.

Most people, without realizing it, interrupt that flow.

• They jump in too quickly.

• They pull the conversation back to themselves.

• They push for more detail when the other person isn’t ready.

• They think they’re being curious, engaged, even helpful, but they’re actually disrupting what was already unfolding.

Push hands taught me something I didn’t expect: the harder I tried to control, the worse I did. But the moment I stopped pushing, I could finally feel what was happening. Everything I needed was already there, but I had just been too busy to notice.

The same is true in conversation. All you need to do is switch from pushing to following, and you’ll open yourself up to what is going on right in front of your ears.

If understanding is winning, then pushing is the fastest way to lose.