I used to be really annoying about listening.

Like, genuinely insufferable. Someone would complain about noise and I’d be like “well actually, if you just listened more mindfully to your acoustic environment…” Someone would say they found silence uncomfortable and I’d launch into this whole lecture about cultivating deep listening practices.

I was that person. The “have you tried listening better?” person.

And then I found out an old friend was diagnosed with Auditory Processing Disorder (APD), and I realized I’d been a complete jerk about this for years.

The Wake-Up Call

My friend is in their 40s, works in tech, and is very intelligent. But they have APD, which means their brain has trouble processing auditory information, even though their hearing itself is fine.

They experience soundscapes completely differently from me. What I hear as interesting acoustic complexity, they hear as overwhelming chaos. What I find stimulating, they find exhausting. Background noise that I barely notice can make it literally impossible for them to understand speech.

We went to a coffee shop I love, one of those acoustically lively places I’m always raving about. I’m blissfully enjoying the rich soundscape. They lasted about 20 minutes before they had to leave because they couldn’t process anything. Too much overlapping sound, too many frequencies, their brain couldn’t separate speech from background noise.

I’d always intellectually understood that people experience sound differently. But watching someone I know struggle with an environment I found delightful… that was humbling.

All The Ways I’d Been Wrong

Turns out there are a LOT of reasons why “just listen better” is terrible advice:

Auditory processing disorders. Affects millions of people. Their brains process sound differently, and no amount of “mindful listening” will change that.

Hearing loss. Obviously. People with hearing loss have completely different sonic experiences and needs. Telling them to “just listen” is… not helpful.

Sensory processing differences. Lots of neurodivergent folks (autism, ADHD, etc.) process sound differently. What’s merely loud to me might be physically painful to someone else.

Trauma responses. Some people have acoustic triggers due to past trauma. Certain sounds, volumes, or environments can be genuinely triggering, and “just listening mindfully” isn’t going to solve that.

Different cultural relationships to sound. Not everyone values the same acoustic experiences. What I consider a rich soundscape might be someone else’s nightmare.

Chronic pain and illness. Sound sensitivity can be a symptom of various conditions. Migraines, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, all can make people more sensitive to sound.

Economic factors. Not everyone has the luxury of choosing their acoustic environment. If you live next to a highway because that’s what you can afford, “just listen mindfully” feels pretty insulting.

The Privilege of Sonic Choice

Here’s what I had to confront: my entire approach to soundscape work was based on a huge amount of privilege.

I have normal hearing. I have typical auditory processing. I’m neurotypical. I have the economic resources to live in a very quiet neighborhood. I work in a field where I have control over my acoustic environment. I can leave spaces that are too loud. I can afford noise-canceling headphones, although I do not own a pair.

For me, “engaging with soundscapes” is a choice, a practice, even a pleasure.

For a lot of people, it’s not. It’s a necessity, a struggle, or a source of constant stress.

Telling everyone to “just listen better” ignores all of that context.

What I Do Differently Now

I still believe in the importance of soundscape awareness. I still think most people would benefit from paying more attention to their acoustic environment. But I approach it differently now:

I ask about access needs first. Instead of assuming everyone experiences sound the way I do, I ask. What do you need acoustically to be comfortable? What makes listening difficult for you?

I acknowledge that quiet is sometimes the right answer. Not every situation calls for “engaging with the soundscape.” Sometimes people genuinely need silence or very minimal sound, and that’s valid.

I design for acoustic diversity. In my work with Hush Planning and Community HiFi, we don’t just advocate for “better soundscapes” as if there’s one ideal. We create acoustic diversity so people with different needs and preferences have options.

I validate people’s sonic struggles. If someone says a sound bothers them, I don’t try to reframe it as an opportunity for mindful listening. I take it seriously.

I consider power dynamics. Who gets to shape soundscapes? Who has to live with noise they didn’t choose? Sonic equity is about more than just awareness.

The Nuance I Was Missing

Here’s what I understand now that I didn’t before: there’s a huge difference between:

“You could benefit from paying more attention to sound” (probably true for many people)

and

“If you just listened better, sound wouldn’t bother you” (ableist, dismissive, wrong)

The first invites people to explore. The second blames them for their experience.

I was doing the second one while thinking I was doing the first one.

When “Just Listen” Actually Is Helpful

There ARE contexts where encouraging deeper listening is appropriate:

• When someone has the capacity and interest
• When it’s framed as an invitation, not a prescription
• When we’re talking about optional enrichment, not necessary coping
• When acoustic access needs are already met
• When the person has actual choice about their sonic environment

But it’s not a universal solution. It’s not always accessible. And it’s definitely not a substitute for actually addressing problematic noise or creating better acoustic environments.

What I Tell People Now

Instead of “just listen,” I try to say things like:

“What kind of sonic environment helps you focus/relax/feel comfortable?”

“What acoustic needs do you have that aren’t being met?”

“What would your ideal soundscape be?”

“How can we make this space more acoustically accessible for you?”

These questions center the person’s actual experience and needs instead of imposing my values on them.

The Bigger Lesson

This whole experience taught me that expertise can make you arrogant. I know a lot about soundscapes, and that made me think I knew what everyone needed from their acoustic environment.

But knowledge about sound is different from knowledge about individual people’s experiences, needs, and access requirements.

I can advocate for better soundscapes while still acknowledging that “better” looks different for different people.

I can value acoustic awareness while recognizing that not everyone can or should engage with sound the way I do.

I can love soundscapes and also deeply respect someone’s need to block them out entirely.

These things aren’t contradictory. They’re just… complete.

So yeah. I stopped telling people to “just listen.” And I think my work is better for it.

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How do you experience sound? What are your acoustic needs that often don’t get met? I’m trying to learn from people with different experiences than mine.