Every so often the media will proclaim the benefits of a new “superfood”. One year quinoa stands triumphant; the next, avocado takes centre stage. And, even in the rarefied world of business and professional skills, similar enthusiasms emerge and then fade as new pretenders jostle to take their place.

Mindfulness, inclusive leadership, networking and resilience all have their moments in the sun, before business articles, blogs, podcasts and books invariably turn their fleeting attention elsewhere. But there is one skill that deserves to endure. And that is curiosity. Because curiosity, I believe, is the ‘super skill’ that informs all our attempts to communicate, build enduring relationships and lead humanely.

In 2018, the Harvard Business Review placed curiosity centre-stage in its September-October edition. Similarly, the World Economic Forum has identified curiosity as one of the 16 most critical ‘21st-century skills’.

Through curiosity, the research argues, we can innovate more effectively, improve decision-making, reduce conflict and evolve more cohesive and inclusive teams. But curiosity, I would argue, also sits at the heart of any strategy to improve client listening.

For without curiosity, you will always fail to listen attentively. It’s immaterial what methodology you adopt — survey, focus groups, simple one-to-one conversation — curiosity will help you remain alert to the nuances of what is being said and, crucially, to pay attention to what remains unsaid.

But this presents a particular challenge. How exactly can we be more curious? If we believe it to be a skill — how precisely can we develop it, put into practice and know if we’re doing it right? It’s rarely a question on any performance review: can you please rate, or provide feedback, on the level, quality and efficacy of my curiosity…

I think a good place to start, as is often the case, is David Maister’s The Trusted Advisor. One of the core trusted advisor skills that Maister identifies is “listening for difference”. What is it about the person that I am communicating with that makes them different from everyone else I know — and what does this mean for what I should say and ask?

But there is a problem here. We’re really not very good at listening for difference. Rather, we are programmed to look for similarity.

Let’s say we meet a client — and let’s say we call them Sam. I suggest that immediately, and often without being aware of it, we will place Sam in certain conceptual boxes: in-house lawyer, private practice background, high-performing professional etc. We might then start grouping Sam with others we have encountered: well, they’re very similar to Deepak, Jane, Aditi and Joe etc.

And there’s a reason for this. Our brains act as pattern-recognition machines. Faced with the vast amounts of data our senses receive, we can only manage this flow by noticing patterns or imposing narratives and other sense-making devices. We really are not very good at noticing. Or, as Sherlock famously cautioned Watson in ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’, ‘You see, but you do not observe’.

This was tellingly demonstrated in Chabris and Simons’ “The invisible gorilla” experiment (I suggest you Google it) in which viewers of a basketball match — who were asked to count the number of passes — fail to notice a person in a gorilla suit who appears in the centre of the video. How many gorillas do we fail to notice in our everyday conversations?

So, we need to listen to difference. In that conversation with Sam, resist the temptation to categorise and classify. Stay alert to all the information you receive from Sam’s words, vocalic cues (the tone, cadence and pitch of their voice) and body language. To what extent do all three signals align? And what is different or not being said? Are there hesitations or throwaway comments — the ‘weak signals’ of conversation that you need to explore.

For example, you might ask about the quality of support on the last transaction your firm handled for Sam, and receive the response “yes, it was very good”. Now, the temptation here is to sigh with relief and move rapidly on (before those bothersome doubts surface) to the next question? But pause for a moment. Did Sam’s voice and facial expressions confirm the words spoken or were there anomalies at play? That smile that Sam gave — was it genuine or maybe not?

At this stage, I would propose a follow-up question. And it’s perfectly acceptable to acknowledge our curiosity. Why not enquire, “Thanks, Sam, and I’m curious about what we did well. Could you tell me more?”.

And there are other things (literally) we could be curious about. Visiting colleagues in their offices, I am always drawn to the objects in the room and try to decode what they reveal or symbolise. The photographs of friends, family, hobbies and interests; the mementoes of past deals; the books on their shelves (a true window into the soul). In essence, the question I pose is always the same: what can I learn about this person from the material world they create around themselves?

And such a game translates well into the remote world. Interviewed via Zoom for a US podcast last year, I felt compelled to ask Mike - the host - about the guitars hanging on his office wall. A discussion about music, books and various other interests quickly followed. And, by the time the interview started, I felt I’d known Mike for far longer than the five minutes we’d actually spent together. So, not only do these objects tell us something (if we have the curiosity to listen) but they also spark connection and affiliation.

So, in listening, in building and sustaining relationships, curiosity matters. Without it, you will never truly appreciate what is important to your client; what motivates and excites them; and, crucially, what they value in you. And without that appreciation, the sustainability of the relationship will always be in jeopardy.

Like Watson, stumbling in Holmes’ wake, you will have seen; but sadly, you will have failed to observe.

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