Hear's the Thing: Lessons on Listening, Life, and Love

By Cody Alan

We live in a world of noise where everyone is so quick to speak. When we slow down and give someone our full attention, we offer them a safe place to be fully heard and accepted.

Hear’s the Thing is a story about what is possible when someone is brave enough to listen to others… and, ultimately, themselves without judgement.

For Cody Alan, one of country music’s most famous on-air radio and TV personalities, listening to other people has always been a crucial part of his role. It was by fostering his ability to hear others that he discovered the person he most needed to listen to was himself. Listening ultimately led him on a journey of self-discovery where he found the courage to come out as gay, the openness to question spiritually, and the strength to explore a new definition of parenting and family.

In his debut memoir, Hear’s the Thing, Cody shares some of the many lessons he’s learned along the way such as:

• How to actively listen with empathy and without judgment
• Why a willingness to “let people in” better equips you to receive from others
• How genuine attentiveness can help you build healthier and deeper relationships

The art of listening is often lost but Cody’s story will inspire you to hear that inner voice that is leading you to a deeper connection with yourself and the people around you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9780785249290

Cody Alan

The man Keith Urban says "makes Ryan Seacrest look like a slacker," Cody Alan is as beloved by the Nashville stars he covers as he is by millions of country fans. As host and executive producer of CMT Radio, listeners hear Cody daily on more than 200 radio stations. On CMT’s flagship music show, Hot 20 Countdown, his face can also be seen in 90 million homes, making him “Country’s Renaissance Man” (Radio Ink), and the ultimate host and insider. Cody’s listeners and viewers tune in from all over the world because he is, hands down, one of the greatest celebrity interviewers on radio and television today, and his heartfelt enthusiasm for the music resonates through every platform. He is at ease with "all kinds of kinds," having interviewed everyone from Taylor Swift to Blake Shelton, and Bradley Cooper to Dolly Parton. Whether on radio, TV, digital or social media, he delivers the same dynamic, curious, engaging personality that keeps fans connected. 

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

IT MIGHT SOUND WEIRD THAT a music and television personality who makes his living talking on air would write a book centered on how to shut up and let others speak. But I pride myself on being a professional listener in a world where no one hears each other anymore. Actively listening without judgment and showing empathy, making eye contact with the person you are speaking with, and mirroring their emotions can work miracles. While our social media screams Look at me! Listen to me! I’ve always loved hearing the stories of others. When someone feels heard, you’re giving them permission to be their true, authentic self. I make my living getting country artists to open up about their lives, realizing that’s where the best country music comes from: real life. And I’m able to do this because my listening skills have helped me establish a good rapport and sense of trust that allows them to be vulnerable, even when millions of people are listening!

This superpower has always been there. As a kid, I possessed natural curiosity and an empathy for other people. I asked questions, watched their reactions, paid attention to body language and to what was not said as much as what was. I was hypersensitive to how someone was feeling, and always zeroed in on people in the room who seemed awkward or unhappy, showing concern and asking friendly questions to draw them out of their shells. My mom used to call me her ball of sunshine because, even as a toddler, I’d do whatever it took to get someone to laugh or break into a smile.

I was also intensely nosy. Not in a mean or intrusive way. I just loved people and wanted to find out whatever I could to make a connection. Instinctively I knew just how far to probe or how much to share to make someone feel comfortable enough to open up to me. It was a skill that helped this kid win friends in school and throughout my life. That curiosity about others kept me rich in all kinds of relationships. And damn, I’m good at getting country artists to spill the tea!

But the one voice I wasn’t listening to enough was my own. For years, I’d been deaf to my authentic self. I was a good listener to others in part because I was desperate to shut down the inner voice that was telling me who I truly was. There was always that invisible wall. As open as I may have seemed, my reluctance to let people in and share more of who I was limited how deep I could go. Ironically, being more willing to give to others has better equipped me to receive. I became a better listener, a better communicator, and a happier person when I finally flexed that compassionate listening muscle on myself.

And that’s what this book is about: giving others, and yourself, permission to become their authentic selves by listening, understanding, and receiving with an open heart. It’s time for a refresher course on the art of genuine listening that can help you build healthier relationships, deal with conflicts, improve understanding and accuracy, learn and discover new points of view, enhance your career . . . Anyone can attain great listening skills, but it takes constant practice.

I’m still a work in progress, and I’ve caught myself interrupting and making assumptions plenty of times. But the ability to really hear someone is a strength that’s well worth honing, because improved hearing cascades into all areas of your life, whether you interview people for a living as I do, or you are just trying to build deeper connections with those in your life who matter most.

On these next pages, I’ll share my story, along with the wisdom I’ve gathered along the way from some country music greats I’ve been privileged enough to meet and interview in depth. My intention is to use these experiences of listening and connecting with others to inspire you to open up more fully to all that the universe has to offer.

It’s no coincidence that my passion is country music. These are the songs that tell a story. They were made for listening to with your full attention. That’s why one of the catchphrases on my show is Hear’s the thing! I want to make sure the audience is still there with me, catching every nuance. It’s not just the music but the expression of the words that makes the record. You don’t just tap your feet mindlessly and hum along to the hook while it plays in the background. You hang onto every line, feeling the emotion and intention of the artist who is singing. You lose yourself in the narrative and visualize the scene or the person who inspired those lyrics. In fact, a great country music song is the perfect training tool for listening with empathy. And, once you’ve gone country, you develop an ear for authenticity. You can feel what’s real.

Against that backdrop, I’ll share with you the various ways listening has played out in my life, from each step along the way toward exceeding my dreams of becoming a radio and TV host, to my personal growth as a husband, father, lover, and friend. You’ll learn how paying attention to my inner voice made me clear about what I wanted to do in this life.

So that’s what I’m offering you with this all-access pass to my world: a few snippets on the wisdom of listening from a country boy who may not be perfect but who always strives to do what’s right. Consider this your invitation to share in my journey. I’m no expert, and I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I can offer you a few insights on the art of listening, and what’s worked for me as I’ve fumbled my way toward becoming my true self. My goal is not so much to tell you how exactly to listen as to show how opening up my own ears has brought me my greatest joys. These insights come from a set of experiences and adventures on a road less traveled. But don’t look for a set of prescriptions on these next pages. If you tune in and listen to my story, you will find your own takeaways. My desire above all is to entertain.

Consider this your invitation to listen in on my fun, crazy, and blessed life as a country music personality in Nashville. Throughout, you’ll hear directly from friends and family, including my ex-wife Terresa’s perspective on my coming out process, some behind-the-scenes memories with Keith Urban, my mom’s memories of my childhood idiosyncrasies, and the entertaining insights of my closest friends in the industry. It seems only fair to allow you to hear my story through other voices and let them have their say!

Country music, which I consider one of my oldest friends, will be another recurring character in my story. I love listening to it with the windows down and the volume up. These artists are nothing but honest about the struggles of their lives, and increasingly I’m hearing a lot of compassion in their lyrics, so their warmth and kindness toward me stands to reason. I found plenty of comfort in this music when I went through some recent life-changing events. It gave me the courage to make an important leap of faith, which you’ll learn about as you read on. When you fall, you might break a few bones, but embrace the pain, because it means you’ve fully lived. Own the joy and the suffering. Leave it all out there on the floor.

I am proud of the risks I’ve taken on this journey, because living honestly was best for me. That’s what we were put on this earth to do.

1

CRANK UP THE VOLUME

Ain’t it funny how a melody can bring back the memory.

—CLINT BLACK, State of Mind

There was never a day of my childhood that music wasn’t blaring in the small house in the suburbs of Columbia, South Carolina, where I grew up. From grade school all the way through middle school, my late father and I listened to the radio through those gigantic Pioneer speakers that took up a third of the living room, hanging onto everything the songs and the DJ had to say between work, school, and dinner. Never a fan of the bass beats constantly hitting the walls and floors, Mom put up with the noise to a point, although occasionally it got to be too much and she’d shout from the kitchen, Lord have mercy, would you please turn it down! Five minutes later, we’d turn it back up again.

Few if any words were exchanged between father and son. Occasionally Dad might offer a quick comment of appreciation for a record being spun, but mostly we just cocked our heads in the direction of his old stereo, tuning out the rest of the world so we could take in all that was coming at us over the airwaves.

Dad had an impressive collection of thousands of 45s and albums. The walls of our 1,300-square-foot house were lined with cabinets where he stacked his precious ’50s and ’60s doo-wop albums, as well as everything from Jerry Lee Lewis to the Big Bopper, along with all the current hits he loved, from artists like Billy Joel, Linda Ronstadt, and Elton John. All day, every day, was like an episode of American Bandstand, full of upbeat music. My dad was truly like Dick Clark, knowing exactly what song to play to keep the dance floor full. Or, in this case, the kitchen floor! The look on his face when a particular chord was played, or chorus was sung, said it all. The sounds filled my father with a joy that was infectious, at least to the men in our little household.

You’ve been listening to that music since you were the tiniest baby in my womb, my mother would say, only slightly exasperated.

It might not seem like much. It was a lesson that came through gradually, its full significance not quite hitting me until later in life. But in those moments with my dad, I was learning something profound. By being still, silent, and open, I was experiencing the life-changing art of listening. Not only has it been the secret sauce in my career as a country music personality, but it has also been a gift that’s strengthened relationships in all areas of my life, from the easy and open dialogue I enjoy with artists and audience members, to my ever-deepening connection with loved ones, friends, colleagues, myself—even God.

Mr. Microphone

Maybe that’s what drew me to radio. All those hours just sitting, listening, and developing an appreciation for the art and science of it from the other side. For years, I pretended to be on the radio. It got serious when my parents bought me a Mr. Microphone. Most ten-year-old kids would play with video games, Legos, or maybe GI Joe, but I used to broadcast with Mr. Microphone, tuning into the FM receiver at the low end of the band—around 87.7—and adding my voice to a collection of cassettes with music and shows. Mr. Microphone had a range of about twenty-five feet, so I’d run the wire through a small hole I poked through the screen of my bedroom window, talk from my room, play music, then go to Mom and Dad’s car to tune into, well, myself.

As far as I was concerned, this was serious business. If we were sitting at the dinner table past 6:00 p.m., I’d excuse myself to go read the evening news. I scripted whole reports on the weather or the day’s events at school and around our neighborhood. I even came up with on-air quizzes with raffles and prizes. First prize was a coupon for dinner at Quincy’s Steakhouse, a local restaurant where we went on special occasions. To this ten-year-old, it was like winning the lottery.

Mom and Dad were always a willing audience. Not once did I feel like they were laughing at me. After my broadcasts, they’d comment on my news of the day or say things like, Oooh, Alan, how can we get one of those prizes? (My real name is Alan Chavis.) They encouraged me to be me and let my imagination run wild.

The Pirate and the Cherokee

My father, Randy Chavis, and my mother, Jean, could not have seemed more different from each other, though they loved each other fiercely for fifty years until my father passed, and when it came to creating a nurturing environment for me and my baby sister, Missy, they were of one mind. Mom, whose family was descended from Norwegian pirates, looked like the perfect southern belle with flame-red hair and skin as pale and creamy as buttermilk. Dad, who was part Cherokee, was the exact opposite, physically—a handsome teddy bear who liked his southern soul food a little too much for the good of his own health.

It never once occurred to me growing up that my dad, with his dark hair, tan skin, and almond-shaped eyes, would have been slightly outside the bounds of who was deemed acceptable at the time for my mother to date. But Mom couldn’t resist him in his military uniform. Dad was on his way to Vietnam until he met her, and just narrowly avoided deployment. Around town they must have attracted some attention, not all of it good, when they first stepped out together at the ages of nineteen and twenty, but they didn’t care what other people thought. To hear them tell it, it was a boy meets girl romance worthy of any great country song.

Mom was soft and feminine, never overbearing, but there was an undercurrent of strength. You could tell my mother was the boss and that my father, deferential and loyal, was just fine with the status quo. Both were incredibly loving with each other and us kids. Dad was not one of those men who felt awkward showing affection. It was as if he’d invented the bear hug. That love and reverence was the blueprint for how I would raise my own family one day.

I was blessed to have parents who encouraged and supported me in every hobby, every whim, academic or otherwise. We didn’t have much. Mom was the only one with a steady job. She kept the books at a local auto dealership while Dad, who’d suffered complications from diabetes my whole life, cycled in and out of various blue-collar gigs. But I never heard the words, No, it’s too expensive, or We can’t afford it, when it came to anything related to my interests or education.

Soul Food

With all the material challenges they faced, it can’t have been easy raising a family, but together they managed to create a world for me that felt rich. Both sets of grandparents lived nearby. Every weekend and holiday there were potluck dinners for extended family members or friends, often near the old tobacco farm where my mother’s parents lived. Everyone would bring a covered dish with sweet potato pie, butter beans, or mac and cheese. Sometimes we’d have fried chicken with all the trimmings: okra, potato salad, steamed squash, and every casserole imaginable. Other times it was a seafood feast. Many of my uncles were fisherman so, when they hauled a big catch, we’d have fish fries with coleslaw and hush puppies. My nana would also make chicken bog, a traditional dish of Carolina rice slow cooked in a big cast-iron pot, with pieces of chicken stewed for so long the meat fell off the bone. My favorite was my mom’s beef pot roast with brown rice, potatoes, and carrots. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.

My parents were godly folks, particularly my mother, so we went to church almost every Sunday. Outside of that, and regular visits to my father’s parents, Grandaddy and Gaga’s, house in town, and Mom’s folks out in the country, my experiences outside the home revolved around school. We didn’t have the money for exotic family trips other than the occasional road trip to Charleston or Charlotte, North Carolina, or more accurately Carowinds amusement park, which was my idea of heaven. Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and Silver Dollar City in Tennessee (before it became Dollywood) were two other glowing childhood memories of family fun.

My parents and grandparents were determined to give me whatever enriching experiences and exposure to the world they could with what little means they had. They were all about giving me the opportunities they never had. One standout memory was a trip to the 1982 World’s Fair in Knoxville, Tennessee, when I was ten. It was a boys’ trip that consisted of me, Dad, and my maternal grandfather, Grandpa. Each country was represented with its own tent. I met a Saudi Arabian dressed head to floor in a white robe or dishdasha and had my picture taken with him. Seeing all those nationalities ignited an intense curiosity about the world. It helped me to imagine myself traveling beyond South Carolina’s borders.

School had the same effect on me. In fourth grade, Eastern Airlines had a program that allowed schoolchildren to experience air travel, so my entire class got to take a field trip from Columbia to Charlotte, a twenty-minute trip. It was my first time on a plane, and more material to feed my imagination. The airline crew gave us each a pair of wings and from that moment on I became an avid collector. I never doubted that travel would be in my future, despite my humble, small-town beginnings.

Alex P. Keaton

My parents must have wondered how they ever produced such a driven, ambitious kid. They thought I could do no wrong, which can’t have been easy for my baby sister, Missy, who I always felt lived under my shadow.

You’re not like a typical boy, always getting into mischief, Mom told me. You’re my perfect little angel, my gift from God.

I did my chores and kept my room neat as can be, with the bed always made and my toys and clothes put in their proper place. The posters on my bedroom wall could never be dogeared at the corners. I took measurements and stuck them on straight with double-sided tape. My comic books were stacked neatly in ascending order of the date of issue (I was much more a fan of Batman, in his muscular, formfitting suit, than of Wonder Woman). My Matchbox car collection was ordered according to make and model, each car in its original box.

I was also that nerdy kid who always had my homework done. Think Alex P. Keaton on Family Ties. My social life consisted of study buddies, mostly girls, none of them actual girlfriends, although one or two of them may have thought so. In high school I joined the Decca Club and took classes in media and marketing at a nearby vocational school and loved every second of the experience, especially when my teacher convinced me to run for national office. They flew me to Denver where I canvassed for votes, but it worked like the electoral college: the state with the most votes usually wins so a girl from Texas kicked my ass. At least I got to go to Denver, although I didn’t see much beyond the airport terminal and the hotel convention center.

That experience must have whet my appetite for politics, because in my junior year of high school, I decided to run for vice president of the student council. The previous year I’d gotten in tight with this crowd, because they were the ones making the decisions about who was going to DJ the school dances, like the Spring Fling or Fall Jam. I’m lucky they chose me most of the time. Yet I was never one of the cool kids. I wasn’t an athlete, but I was generally well liked so I figured I had a shot at winning VP. I went all in for my election campaign, making banners with neat, carefully matched lettering. I was all into branding