Sometimes I wonder when we actually started listening to one another less.
Not hearing less.
We do that constantly.
We hear voices, opinions, news, comments, and countless words. Every day there are more. And yet something seems to be becoming rarer:
real listening.
Perhaps that is why it is time to think about a word that used to be completely natural and today sounds almost a little old-fashioned:
Respect.
A small word.
But one with astonishing weight.
Because respect does not mean that we have to agree with everything. Nor does it mean that we have to like every person.
Sometimes respect simply means:
I see you.
I take you seriously.
You are a human being just like me.
You have your own story, your experiences, your fears, and your reasons that I may never fully understand.
And perhaps that is exactly where something begins that we are increasingly losing in everyday life.
We live under the same sun.
We breathe the same air.
We see the same stars.
And yet we can make life difficult for one another.
Sometimes all it takes is a single sentence.
A thoughtless word.
A mocking look.
A derogatory remark.
Or that small, seemingly harmless rolling of the eyes, which can say more than a hundred words.
The other person notices it.
Of course they notice it.
Perhaps they simply do not let it show.
And that is exactly what is sad:
We often have no idea what a person takes home with them after meeting us.
Perhaps they smiled.
Perhaps they even said, “It’s all good.”
And yet it may be that later they sit alone in their room and hear that one sentence all over again.
“Why did he have to say that?”
There are words we forget immediately.
And there are words that stay.
For years.
Perhaps an adult still remembers a sentence someone said to them when they were a child.
“You can’t do that anyway.”
“You’ll never amount to anything.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“Why can’t you be like …?”
Back then, perhaps it was only a sentence.
For the person who said it, it was forgotten again after a few minutes.
For the child, perhaps not.
Perhaps the child put that sentence away somewhere deep inside.
And at some point, a sentence spoken by someone else became their own thought:
“Maybe I really am not good enough.”
That is what makes words so powerful.
They can lift a person up.
But they can also settle somewhere deep inside them.
Perhaps respect therefore begins much earlier than we think.
Not only in professional life.
Not only in a partnership.
Not only when we become adults.
It begins where a child first experiences how people treat one another.
A child observes.
How do people speak to one another?
How do they argue?
How do they talk about other people when they are not there?
How is a mistake dealt with?
Is someone allowed to say, “That hurt me”?
Or are they told, “Stop making such a fuss”?
Children do not only hear our words.
They learn how we treat one another.
And eventually they carry that out into the world.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons why we sometimes meet people who can be remarkably disrespectful without even realizing how they affect others.
Perhaps they never learned that strength and thoughtlessness are two completely different things.
It is not much different among adults.
You can greet a person every morning and still not really see them.
You can sit next to one another and yet talk past each other.
You can work together for years and still hardly know what is really occupying the other person.
And yet respect can sometimes be something very simple.
Letting someone finish speaking.
Not interrupting immediately.
Not immediately seeing a different opinion as an attack.
Not taking a “thank you” for granted.
Or simply saying once:
“Tell me how you see it.”
Perhaps that one sentence changes more than we think.
Because somewhere in their life, every person wants to have the feeling:
I am seen.
Not judged.
Not compared.
Not put into a box.
Simply seen.
It becomes particularly strange on the internet.
There, people sit in front of screens and write things to others that they would probably never say to their face.
A comment is written quickly.
A sentence is sent quickly.
A judgment is made quickly.
And then it is out there.
Only the person it was directed at is left with the words.
Sometimes I therefore wonder:
What would change if, before sending a message, we could briefly see the other person’s face?
Not their profile picture.
Not their name.
But their real face.
Perhaps the tired eyes.
Perhaps the worries behind them.
Perhaps the tears nobody sees.
Perhaps some words would never be written then.
Because behind every screen there is not an “account.”
There is a human being sitting there.
Of course, there are people who deliberately provoke.
People who want to hurt.
People who take out their own dissatisfaction on others.
And sometimes it really is better not to respond.
Not every door has to be opened.
Not every argument has to be fought.
Not every provocation deserves our energy.
Silence can sometimes be much stronger than a sharp response.
Not out of weakness.
But because you have understood:
I do not have to accept every fight simply because someone offers one to me.
Perhaps that too is respect.
Respect for the other person.
But equally, respect for yourself.
And then there is that special form of respect that is particularly difficult:
Respecting people who do not treat us respectfully.
That is probably the point where it becomes clear what respect really means.
Because being kind to someone we love is not particularly difficult.
It becomes difficult with the person who has hurt us.
With the colleague who constantly provokes us.
With the family member with whom every conversation becomes difficult.
With the person whose opinion we simply cannot share.
Perhaps respect here does not mean that we allow closeness.
Perhaps it simply means:
I will not become the person whose behavior I am currently upset about.
They hurt me.
But I will not therefore hurt others myself.
They were unfair.
But I will not therefore be unfair.
They made me feel small.
But I will not therefore make anyone else feel small.
Perhaps that is a quiet form of freedom.
A little illustration comes to my mind again and again.
Imagine an old mirror.
It hangs somewhere in a hallway. Perhaps it has been there for many years.
One day someone throws a stone at it.
A small crack appears.
The mirror remains hanging there.
Later someone comes and throws something at it again.
Another crack.
And another.
Eventually the mirror is full of cracks.
If you look into it now, you no longer see yourself as you really are.
Everything is distorted.
Perhaps people are similar.
We never know how many invisible cracks a person is already carrying inside.
Perhaps someone has already experienced a great deal of criticism.
Perhaps they have often been rejected.
Perhaps someone made them feel for years that they were not good enough.
And then we come along.
We see only this one moment.
We know nothing about their story.
And yet we judge them.
Perhaps it would sometimes be good to remember:
We see a person – but not their whole story.
Respect therefore perhaps also means being more careful with what is unknown.
Not immediately judging every behavior.
Not taking every reaction personally.
Not immediately thinking:
“He is arrogant.”
Maybe he is insecure.
“She is unfriendly.”
Maybe she has just had a terrible day.
“He doesn’t care about anyone.”
Maybe he himself is currently struggling to cope with his own life.
We do not know.
And that is exactly why a little restraint can sometimes do us good.
Perhaps in the end, respect is not really anything great.
Perhaps it is found in the small things that nobody photographs and nobody publishes anywhere.
In the person who holds the door open for someone else.
In the one who lets an elderly person finish speaking.
In a son who listens to his mother once again, even though he already knows the story.
In a partner who does not strike back after an argument.
In a friend who keeps a secret.
In a colleague who does not embarrass someone for making a mistake in front of everyone.
In a person who can say:
“You are right. I was wrong about that.”
And perhaps even in the person who takes the first step after an argument, although they are convinced that they themselves are right.
Not because they have lost.
But because the relationship is more important to them than winning.
Perhaps one day we will realize that we do not remember most of the conversations of our lives at all.
But we remember certain people.
And usually not because they were particularly clever.
Not necessarily because they were particularly successful.
But because somehow we felt good in their presence.
Safe.
Accepted.
Respected.
Perhaps that is one of the most beautiful things a human being can give to another:
the feeling of being valuable.
And it does not take much.
Sometimes a look is enough.
Listening.
An honest “thank you.”
An “I understand you.”
Or simply the decision to remain silent for one moment longer before answering.
Perhaps we should therefore not wait for the world to become more respectful again.
Perhaps change begins much smaller.
With us.
With me.
With you.
With the next conversation.
With the next message.
With the next person we meet.
Because someone has to begin.
And perhaps that is the most beautiful thought about respect:
We do not have to wait for someone else to give it.
We can begin with it ourselves.
Today.
Quite unremarkably.
Perhaps even where nobody notices.
And perhaps, at some point, someone will simply notice:
“Somehow, that conversation today was different.”
Perhaps that person will not even understand why.
But perhaps they felt something.
Something that is becoming ever more precious in our noisy world:
Respect.
Dignity.
Humanity.
Respect.
Perhaps the word has not been forgotten after all.
Perhaps it is simply waiting
for us to give it once again the weight
that it deserves.