How not to fix a problem

Lately I've become a bit of a podcast nerd. Spending hours in the car driving to and from work, I find few things as entertaining and miraculously distracting as episodes of The Nerdist Podcast, Gilmore Guys, Lore, and many many other terrific programs.

Today, during my commute travails, I spent half an hour listening to the newest episode of Dear Hank and John, a somewhat inaccurately labeled "comedy podcast" from YouTube's very own VlogBrothers.

In the natural flow of their conversation and in answering a listener's question, John mentioned something that struck a chord with me which -- upon reflection -- I believe to be one of the most important aspects to maintaining healthy and loving relationships. So I thought I'd share it here on The Songs of Spring.

The question read:

"Dear Hank and John,  

There must be a better way to express empathy than saying 'I'm sorry.' Saying 'I'm sorry' places blame on the person expressing empathy and normally causes the person receiving empathy to reply with something along the lines of ‘It's not your fault’ or even worse misplacing negative feelings towards someone who is genuinely trying to voice compassion to their situation. I've taken to saying 'Yo bro, I know that feel,' but in some situations it seems improper. What do you guys think? Is there better vocabulary that can be used to express empathy?"

To which John began explaining the concept of "empathic listening," which he learned about while working as a student chaplain at a children's hospital.

"So an example of empathic listening might be that someone tells you that they’re feeling very sad and you say 'I'm hearing that you're feeling very sad right now'...Obviously, in a perfect world you want to phrase it a little more subtly than that so that it doesn't feel awkward in conversation. But it is, at least in my experience, astonishingly effective. Just to acknowledge what someone else is feeling and to acknowledge that you hear what they’re feeling is really powerful."

This brought the brothers into a discussion on the inherent problem of offering solutions to problems when a solution is not requested.

Hank: "And don't do the thing that I do which is, 'Well here's how you can fix your problem.'"

John: "No, do not go to problem-fixing. Because A) it does not work B) when it is time for problem-fixing, people will start to bring up solutions instead of bringing up problems. And also, in most cases of pain there is no easy solution. The job is not to find a solution, the job is to find less aloneness within it."

This is an issue I've observed hundreds of times in my own life and in the lives of those around me. I've been on both sides of the situation, and I feel I can see the reality with some clarity.

Often in our relationships we offer our shoulders to cry on, but only for so long. We patiently listen, but after a while we resort to trying to fix the perceived problem. It always seems like the right thing to do at the time. We're satisfying the most beautiful human desire: to help.

But the most beneficial choice we can make as confidantes is to offer ourselves with no strings attached, to listen compassionately and without agenda. The very act of offering a solution can seem in itself dismissive. We risk alienating those we love the most by not hearing them out, but instead talking over them with what we believe is wisdom.

This all comes down to the root of all positive relationships, which is understanding and respect. When we love someone, whether it be as a friend, a romantic partner, a family member, or what have you -- we owe it to them to treat them with patience and consider their needs before acting. Often, just having someone to listen to a problem is enough to make the problem go away — or at least make it easier to contend with.

It's such an easy choice we can make, to listen. It's really the simplest solution of all.

If you're interested in listening to the entire podcast episode I'm referencing, find it below. The question quoted above is read at 20:15.

VidCon 2015: Nerdfighter Recap

A Creator panel at VidCon 2015. (Rachel Poletick / Instagram)

Take a three-story building and fill it with thousands of people for a weekend, and you can expect to see one of two sides of humanity:

1. An apocalyptic survival test in which only the most destructive, insane and sweaty competitors survive.

or

2. A circle of friends holding hands around a campfire and singing "Kumbaya."

At VidCon 2015, the figurative voices of thousands of nerdfighters resonated at once. Together, they united a community that has fought to decrease worldsuck, but in more recent years has struggled to decrease its own internal divisiveness.

VidCon is an annual conference asking and answering questions about the state of online video, but as of 2014 there were bigger questions surrounding the Con's very existence. With thousands of young YouTube enthusiasts gathering to storm the Anaheim Convention Center in search of their favorite creators, older viewers stepped back to observe and lament at the loss of their sanctuary. The very first VidCon had only around 1,400 attendees and was a place for the creator and the viewer to come together as friends. With over 18,000 in attendance in 2014, the event grew over-crowded and cut-throat. Coexistence seemed impossible.

[Read more about VidCon 2014: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly]

From its inception in 2010 through to 2014, VidCon had two tracks: Community and Industry. The Community track focused on personality-based content for viewers while Industry gave access to more technical content for creators. As the years passed, the designations continued with few hitches. But by VidCon 2013, the tides were changing. The division between Community and Industry grew as entertainment industry professionals set their sights on YouTube as a viable media platform and snapped up the Industry passes while the Community track was flooded with viewers and creators.

This year, the creation of a third track at VidCon—the Creator pass—separated the community into its very separate constituents. This allowed a burgeoning group of content creators to have their own track focused on the art of crafting online video, while the viewers (as before) still got the fix they needed from the Community track and professionals stayed with the Industry track. The addition proved to be a step in the right direction.

VidCon in its new form is an organized and safe environment which caters directly to the attendees' needs. Depending on your desire—whether that is to meet your favorite YouTuber, learn how to make videos yourself, or begin using online video in your corporate strategy—there is a track for you.

On the Creator track, I was able to relive the fond memories of VidCons past. I took part in a breakout group to discuss gender and representation on YouTube, I sat in a story circle of my peers, I heard very niche and personal Q&A and panel sessions that I couldn't have even dreamed of getting into last year on the Community track. Rather than fight just to get into a panel (as I did last year), I could arrive 15 minutes prior and get a seat in the first five rows. There were places to lounge and opportunities to meet new people, to really feel that sense of community again.

My big "Kumbaya" moment, however, happened on the last day of the conference, away from the Creator track. As the VidCon concert ended and the setup began for VidCon Prom, a video played on the screen above the arena stage. It was a compilation video of the weirdest animal noises I'd ever heard, and perhaps the winner of the Best Non Sequitur of the Year award.

Surrounded by my fellow VidCon attendees, I laughed. I convulsed. I cried. And I felt like I was at summer camp, sitting amongst friends and telling funny stories. This was the community I joined, and this is the community to which I always want to belong. We are nerdfighteria, we decrease worldsuck through love and videos and VidCon is our home.