Years ago, at a networking event right around Good Friday, a work acquaintance asked me about my family’s plans for the weekend. Instead of realizing this as a polite overture to make conversation, I immediately got trapped in my head thinking about Easter, my young boys, and the role religion should play in their lives. When I turned to reply to this loan originator, what spewed out of my mouth was a disjointed stream of conscious about faith, parenting, and values that rambled on far too long when a simple response of “Easter Egg Hunt’ or “Dinner with my in-laws” would have sufficed. Wide-eyed and taken aback, my conversation partner nodded and was probably relieved that our event started shortly after.
I am not very good at small talk.
It is a deficiency that has probably haunted me most of my adult life. It explains why I didn’t have much “game” at bars in my twenties. With techno music blasting to the point where you’re almost yelling in someone’s ear, this is really not the time for an in-depth conversation about anything. It also explains a series of uncomfortable exchanges at water coolers, photo copiers, and ATMs. To the best of my memory, the last time I was good at small talk was first grade. During lunch, the female ringleader would ask the table, “Who likes Apple Jacks?” and I could comfortably raise my hand or say “same.” Since then my appetite for the mundane, as well as my appetite for Fruit Loops, has waned significantly.
Throughout the course of our day, we participate in polite conversations about any number of trivial matters: the weather, a tv show, the local sports teams, shoes. The topic of these conversations really doesn’t matter; these exchanges represent the most basic of human decency–recognizing and acknowledging another person. It goes by all sorts of whimsical names: chit-chat, banter, gab or even repartee; all of which sound like perfectly pleasant experiences. In fact, that’s exactly what we call it: exchanging pleasantries.
By the time we reach adulthood, most of us are perfectly comfortable and adept at participating in these tête-à-têtes. It’s a polite game of verbal tennis, lobbing the conversation back and forth over the net. And when someone graciously sends the ball to my forehand side, I smash it back to them requiring them to think more than they wanted to. At some point you’d think I would have learned that my wife complimenting me on my appearance is not an invitation for a lengthy and spirited debate on the ethical hierarchy of menswear. It would make her so happy if I would just say “thank you” and we could get on with our day.
It was our friend’s 50th party which really delineated the social differences between Jenni and me. Housed within a private cabin at the Lodge of Torrey Pines, a tableful of friends engaged in riveting conversation over a four course dinner. Experiences were shared. Politics were respectfully discussed. World problems were solved. It was heaven. At the same time, I was aware that this social situation was taxing on my wife. Conversationally speaking, Jenni’s a sprinter; I’m a long-distance runner. (By the way, this is the only way I would be connected to the phrase “long-distance runner”.) So when it came time to plan Jenni’s 40th, I opted for a cocktail party so my social butterfly could float from one conversation to another, staying as long she wanted to.
I know this makes me sound like some sort of Mensa-wannabe, psuedo-intellectual egghead, and those claims are not unwarranted. Once more, it seems elitist to say that one kind of conversation is better than another. So let me say it this way, it’s my preference to dive deep into topics. And the conversation doesn’t have to involve a critical moral dilemma or rigorous higher order thinking–going deep on any topic is preferred. Chase and I are currently embroiled in a spirited Lincoln-Douglas style debate over what constitutes a sandwich. His latest argument is to assert that tortillas “can act” like bread, making a quesadilla a sandwich. I may lose this round, but it beats talking about the cheapest place to buy gas in the area.
A couple years ago, I was getting some business coaching that consisted of a weekly phone call. Early in the process, my coach identified this strong preference for depth as an essential component of my personality. As she started one call asking “How are you doing?”, she then took me to task for not answering fully and honestly. Her guidance was something like, “Why would you waste any time with a response like ‘good’ or ‘fine,’ why don’t you immediately begin with a more thoughtful and insightful response?” Which is all well and good when you’re paying someone to improve your career performance, but not everyone wants the unfiltered, no-holds barred, answer to “How are you doing, Steve?” The character of Aaron Burr may be the antagonist of Hamilton, but his “talk less, smile more” advice has its time and place.
So I do my best to meet the challenge of small talk. I’ve worked very hard to give measured, socially appropriate responses when passing co-workers in the hall or greeting parents at school drop off. I acknowledge that not everyone I encounter wants to be dragged into an exhausting and inexorable search for meaning. If you see me out and about, feel free to engage me in any manner of conversation, on any number of topics…maybe just don’t ask about any of my Easter plans.
