In his 2005 commencement address at Kenyon College, David Foster Wallace delivered the following parable:
“There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, ‘Morning, boys. How’s the water?’ And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and asks, ‘What the hell is water?’”
Twenty years later, the parable still challenges us to recognize that the most obvious, ubiquitous, and important realities are often the hardest for us to see.
Like water, wisdom surrounds us yet remains largely invisible—odorless, colorless, and formless. We recognize its importance, yet it often eludes us. True wisdom, I’ve come to believe, manifests not in what we say but in how deeply we listen.
A few years ago my daughter and I were driving on the highway. Two cars sideswiped each other at full speed. Both cars went into uncontrollable spins. Once they came to a stop, I climbed over two concrete barriers to reach one of the heavily damaged vehicles. As I approached the car I could hear a woman screaming inside. I remember pausing for a half-second, wondering if the rest of the passengers were dead.
I pulled a hysterical young woman named Suzanne from the wreckage and we sat down on the hot asphalt. Physically she seemed okay; just some bruises and scrapes. Mentally she was a four-alarm fire: scared, angry, nervous, worried, etc. It was clear that first responders would not arrive quickly.
Rather than talk, I simply asked, “would it be okay if I sit with you for a while until help arrives?” See, in that moment Suzanne didn’t need words. She didn’t need affirmation. She simply needed someone to be present. We continued to sit on the pavement in silence. Once the ambulance arrived, I quietly stepped away. That experience reminded me of a quote from author David Brooks:
“Wise people don’t tell us what to do, they start by witnessing our story.”
Real wisdom rarely resembles Hollywood characters like Yoda or Dumbledore. It doesn’t emerge from clever sayings or mystical pronouncements. Real wisdom comes from deep listening and simply being present—a practice eastern philosophical traditions have long emphasized. Meanwhile western traditions have tended to prioritize rhetoric and proclamations. Said another way, “we often talk when we should be listening”.
See, as E.O. Wilson said back in 1982, “We are drowning in information, while starving for wisdom.” It’s even worse today. If you printed all the information we create in a single day, the stack would reach from the ground to the moon and back—ten times. It would fill over 1,000 Libraries of Congress.
Stephen Hawking once opined that “quiet people have the loudest minds.” Maybe he should have said the loudest people have the quietest minds. Because real wisdom isn’t loud or boisterous. Real wisdom is about knowing when to talk and, more importantly, knowing when to listen. For Suzanne, I realized I didn’t need to offer platitudes or solutions. I simply needed to be present. I just needed to be calm—and to listen. Real wisdom is about connecting with others on a deeper level. To tune in to what’s really being said, even if nobody is talking.
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We used to think interruptions were rude. Today, interruptions are the norm. And, those frequent interruptions have made us impatient and uncomfortable with silence.
Wise people understand that part of the magic is creating connection. It’s about letting people finish their thoughts. Because, oftentimes, people are simply going through a process. When we interrupt, we hijack the natural flow of that process and we kill the opportunity for connection.
When wise people do speak, it’s not rushed; it’s thoughtful and considerate. Wise people listen first and move slowly toward their conclusions. By simply listening, wise people “teach” others to logically reach their own conclusions as well.
In our noisy, distracted world, I observe a growing hunger for authentic connection and understanding—a hunger for relationships that transcend superficiality and constant stimulation. This brings me back to Wallace’s water analogy. Wisdom resembles water not just in its invisibility, but in how it supports and sustains without calling attention to itself.
Like water, wisdom creates the conditions for life and growth while remaining humble and unassuming. The wisest among us are often not those speaking the loudest or offering the clever quips. They’re the ones who have mastered the increasingly rare art of being fully present, listening deeply, and creating spaces for others to find their way.
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