It was 1,000 one-minute conversations. A collection of people who all were within a degree, maybe a half a degree, of separation. Hardly a meaningful chat, and as the event wore on, the meaningfulness of the chats dwindled further. For so little conversation, it was exhausting. I think maybe that conversations that skim along the veneer of content are more taxing than digging into content. I don’t know. But when I left, I was completely spent.
I’m like so many other people claiming that technology has impacted today’s youth’s ability to communicate. I bemoan their addicted behaviors when it comes to their phones. Technology has impacted their ability to talk, I say, or to hold a conversation, or to make eye contact. Today’s technology has made them only interested in what everyone else is doing or saying, unable to engage with what’s happening right here, right now, right in front of them. However, my own behavior at this event wasn’t much different than the complaints I make about them. I can imagine how I looked, flitting from person to person, hardly engaging anyone, only looking for what’s next and who else was there. The event was spectacular. I was the problem.
Not long ago I read about a couple who were invited to a dinner party. They normally decline these invitations because they abhor small talk; it wears them out. The host, however, insisted and the couple begrudgingly showed up, fake smiles pasted on their faces. Once the final guests arrived and all were seated for dinner, the host asked a bombshell question: “How do each of you deal with your marital conflicts?” After a moment of stunned silence, the couples began sharing their stories and their tactics and their lessons learned. There was no small talk to be had. It was an immediate deep dive into meaningful content. The reluctant couple had said to each other they’d stay until it was acceptable to leave. They had their departure excuse rehearsed. However, they ended up staying until well after midnight and left energized by the conversations, not depleted.
I had lunch with a guy a while back. I had shared a book I enjoyed with him weeks before. When he and I sat down, I asked him what he felt his purpose in life was, which was a major element of the book. When his tone changed and he began subtly mocking me thinking I didn’t notice, I realized I had rushed things. It was too soon for that question. Was it too soon in our lunch? Too soon in our friendship? I don’t know. We both rushed the lunch to a close and he’s avoided me ever since. I was searching for meaningful content and assumed he’d join me. He was having none of it and none of me. It’s too bad, too. He’s an interesting guy.
Like most people my age, I’m old enough now that I know a good number of people. I wanted that at one point and, well, here I am. However, at my age, I’m old enough now to realize that I want to know, truly know, many, many fewer.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.
