WHEN in social situations, I often marvel at people who speak a lot and command conversations, like verbal gymnasts, jumping and twirling from one subject to another, their tones ranging from soft and suspenseful to loud and dramatic, as they seek to engage and hold the attention of their audience. I am generally more of an observer and listener, joining in to group conversations only if I feel I have something to say or if someone asks me specific questions. I often find myself thinking: “What do people really talk about when they talk?”
Sometimes social conversations strike me as having the goal (whether consciously or subconsciously so) of filling space or (for the dominant talker) drawing and holding attention to oneself, for any number of reasons. Writing these articles is somewhat like having a series of random conversations – more like monologues delivered to a room full of people whose faces I cannot see. I do not know anything about most of you, but you may begin to learn bits and pieces about me through what is written. You may come to know certain aspects of me directly, when I deliver a specific fact about my life or you may try to decipher and piece together your own assumptions (correct or not), based on thoughts, feelings and opinions that I express. Maybe you will have questions which I may never come to know unless we meet and you ask them.
Once, a reader vacationing in Tobago reached out to meet me. If he is reading this, he probably knows I am referring to him. We sat and had lunch and an engaging conversation. He was a retired man, one of those rare people who asks thought-provoking and soul-searching questions. To me, such questions are like tinder in the fire of conversation and interaction, so our words flowed like a river to the sea of mutual enjoyment and social satisfaction.
If this current article were not a monologue, what kind of conversation might you and I be having now as you sit far away in your place which is currently unknown and unseen to me? Perhaps you might offer something simple, to open the exchange, such as: “Other than writing this, what are you doing now?” “Sipping on coffee.” “Oh. How do you like your coffee?” “Black, no sugar, no milk.” “Ahhh.” At this point, I might ask “And you?” or the conversation might drop into a moment of silence as either or both of us wrack our brains as to, “What to say next.”
I do not find silence uncomfortable, but many people do and, as a result, will probably, after a moment of mental struggle, come up with something mundane to break the possible social unease. “So . . . what kind of cup is your coffee in?” “A dark blue one with a wide base and narrower top.” (At that point I may notice that I never observed the shape of the cup in any great detail until you asked). “Oh. Where did you get it?” “I can’t remember. I think I bought it.” “Why?” “Maybe because I like indigo.” I might begin to tell you that I bought two of those cups because I generally tend to buy things into twos, unless they are being sold in larger groupings (like
