I have nothing against people. I just don’t understand why we’re required to talk to each other quite so often.
Before anyone accuses me of being antisocial, let me clarify. I enjoy people. I enjoy conversations. I particularly enjoy conversations that involve interesting ideas, unexpected observations, a little intellectual stimulation, or at least a reasonably entertaining story. I can talk for hours under the right circumstances. I have, in fact, been known to turn an innocent question into an unsolicited lecture on something I’ve spent the last six months researching.
What I don’t particularly enjoy is talking for the sake of demonstrating that I’m willing to talk.
Apparently, this is an important distinction that society has yet to fully appreciate.
Take the standard greeting: “How are you?”
We all know the arrangement. Someone asks how you are. You say you’re good. You ask how they are. They say they’re good. Both parties continue with their day, satisfied that a successful interpersonal exchange has taken place.
Nobody has learned anything. Nobody was necessarily trying to learn anything. We’ve simply confirmed that both participants understand the procedure.
I realize that “How are you?” is often a greeting rather than a literal request for information. I’m aware that the cashier at Starbucks isn’t conducting a comprehensive wellness assessment. She has drinks to make. There are people behind me. Nobody wants me to begin with the circumstances surrounding my last three existential crises.
Still, I find the entire arrangement mildly fascinating. We ask questions we don’t particularly want answered, give answers that may or may not be accurate, and consider the exchange polite precisely because neither person has made it unnecessarily informative.
Occasionally, I disrupt the system by telling the truth.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay. Hanging in there.”
This is apparently a slightly more complicated response than “Good,” because now the other person has to decide whether I’m merely being conversational or whether they’ve accidentally opened a support group.
And I’m not even telling them anything particularly dramatic. “Hanging in there” is a perfectly respectable status report. It means I’m present, functioning, and have not yet abandoned my responsibilities to move into a remote cabin where nobody knows my phone number. I consider that a fairly positive update, all things considered.
But there’s an interesting social requirement attached to honesty. You can’t just say you’ve had a rough morning. You have to add something reassuring.
“It’s been a rough morning, but I’m hanging in there!”
“Things have been a little crazy, but we’re making it!”
“I’m exhausted and my entire life appears to be held together by administrative improvisation, but otherwise, wonderful!”
The positive ending is important. Without it, you risk becoming the person who complains when somebody was simply trying to be nice. So now, in addition to managing whatever made your morning difficult, you’re responsible for making sure the person who asked about it doesn’t feel uncomfortable with your answer.
What a delightful little system we’ve designed.
And then there’s the workplace greeting.
For years, I would walk into work with my mind already occupied by whatever needed my attention that morning. I had emails to answer, problems to solve, things to organize, and probably a thought I was trying desperately not to lose before reaching my desk.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Perfectly harmless. Completely reasonable. I have no objection to acknowledging another human being’s existence. I understand that walking directly past someone you’ve known for years without so much as a greeting might suggest either a personal grievance or an alarming development in your peripheral vision.
But some mornings, I didn’t even want the possibility of conversation. I wanted to enter the building, sit down, and continue whatever my brain had already started working on. Ideally, without having to interrupt my train of thought simply because two people happened to occupy the same building.
It wasn’t the greeting itself that bothered me. It was the possibility that the greeting might become something else. Another question. A conversation I hadn’t planned to have. A few minutes of trying to appear interested while the thing I actually needed to do sat waiting for me.
And if I didn’t feel particularly conversational, I still had to make sure I didn’t look unfriendly while not feeling conversational. Which is a surprisingly specific form of work.
To be fair, I don’t always feel this way. If I’m sitting in a church lobby and someone sits next to me, I’m perfectly capable of smiling, acknowledging their existence, and asking how their day is going. Whether I actually want to have a conversation is another matter. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Sometimes small talk is perfectly appropriate, and I’m happy enough to participate. I’d just prefer that my willingness to acknowledge another human being not be mistaken for an open invitation to discuss our respective weekend itineraries.
I understand that you generally don’t approach a stranger and immediately begin explaining your childhood, your marriage, or your controversial theory about the collapse of modern civilization. A little conversational runway is probably appropriate. Small talk can help people get comfortable, establish a connection, and figure out whether they have anything in common.
But that assumes an interaction actually needs to take place.
Sometimes we’re simply two people existing in the same location. I don’t see why that has to become a collaborative project.
The trouble is that some people genuinely enjoy small talk. They like chatting about their plans, the weather, the weekend, their neighbor’s dog, or whatever else happens to be available. And that’s fine. I support their right to discuss the atmospheric conditions. I would simply like the option to decline participation without appearing to have a personality disorder.
Starbucks is particularly good at reminding me of this problem.
“Got any plans for today?”
Yes. Work. Take my daughter to dance. Try to finish what I didn’t get done yesterday. Possibly enjoy a few minutes of uninterrupted silence if circumstances permit.
But I usually say something like, “Oh, just working. Nothing exciting.”
Which is both accurate and wildly incomplete.
Because what would happen if I actually answered?
“Well, I’m developing a theory about human capacity and chronic overload, working on several books, building a publication, and thinking about how interpersonal systems influence the way people interpret each other’s behavior. What about you?”
The poor barista was trying to hand me a caramel macchiato. She did not consent to a research presentation.
And that’s where small talk gets complicated for people who actually have a lot to say. Someone asks what you’ve been up to, and suddenly you’re responsible for deciding how much of an answer they can reasonably tolerate.
Do they want the ten-second version? Are we close enough for the real answer? Do we have overlapping interests? Do they have somewhere to be? Am I about to explain something fascinating to a person who was only trying to fill the silence while waiting for the elevator?
You watch their expression, listen for signs of genuine interest, and try to decide whether another sentence would be welcome. If they seem curious, you might elaborate. If their eyes start wandering toward the exit, you wrap it up and assure them you’ve just been keeping busy.
It’s a lot to consider for a question that was probably asked without much consideration at all.
And sometimes the opposite happens. You encounter someone you haven’t seen in a while, exchange the usual pleasantries, and discover that neither of you has any idea how to proceed.
“What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know. Working.”
“How’s that going?”
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
And there you stand.
Two grown adults, apparently waiting for the conversation to develop a plot.
I’ve been on both sides of this. Sometimes I’m the person desperately trying to find something interesting to ask. Sometimes I’m the person offering answers so unhelpful that the other party might as well be interviewing a filing cabinet.
It’s not always a lack of interest. Sometimes I genuinely don’t know what to say. Sometimes I don’t know the person well enough to find a common subject. Sometimes I’m distracted, tired, or simply not in the mood to talk. And sometimes my brain, which ordinarily has no difficulty finding something to think about, has absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation taking place directly in front of me.
I can spend hours thinking through a complicated idea, but ask me what I’ve been doing lately while I’m standing in a hallway, and there’s a reasonable chance I’ll say, “Oh, not much.”
Not much?
I’ve been writing books, developing theories, building websites, and trying to figure out how to turn all of it into something resembling a sustainable livelihood.
But apparently none of that information is available when someone asks me an ordinary question without giving me time to prepare.
Of course, the irony is that I genuinely love a good conversation. Give me someone curious, thoughtful, funny, or passionate about something, and I’ll happily follow the discussion wherever it goes. We can begin with a question about work and end up discussing psychology, economics, parenting, religion, technology, or why human beings insist on making everything unnecessarily complicated.
I don’t even require agreement. Some of the most interesting conversations happen when two people see the same situation differently and are genuinely curious about why. I’d much rather hear someone explain an unusual perspective than spend ten minutes agreeing that the weather has been unpredictable.
Although, to be fair, Missouri weather does occasionally deserve a formal investigation.
What I struggle with is the conversation that exists only because we’ve decided silence would be rude. Small talk is supposed to prevent awkwardness, but when neither person has anything to say, the effort to prevent awkwardness can become the most awkward part of the encounter.
And then someone has to figure out how to end it.
“Well, I’d better let you go.”
A wonderful phrase, considering neither person was necessarily being detained.
“Oh, I don’t want to keep you.”
Excellent. Then we agree.
“Anyway, it was good seeing you!”
Yes, it was. And now that we’ve successfully established that, perhaps we can both resume our lives.
I realize this makes me sound like someone who should probably live alone in the woods, communicating with the outside world through occasional written correspondence. But I don’t think wanting a little peace and quiet is especially unreasonable.
Silence can be lovely. Silence can be productive. Silence can mean I’m thinking, concentrating, enjoying my coffee, or simply existing without needing to provide verbal confirmation of my continued participation in society.
If I’m working on an essay, I may need to finish the paragraph before I can comfortably shift my attention. If I’m answering an important email, I’d prefer to complete the thought rather than abandon it halfway through to discuss what I have planned for Saturday. And if I’m just sitting quietly, I may be perfectly happy to chat. It depends on the situation, the person, and whether my brain has already committed itself elsewhere.
I’m also aware that other people don’t know what’s happening inside my head. Someone who says good morning isn’t deliberately interrupting an elaborate thought process. They’re saying good morning. The barista asking about my plans isn’t trying to create additional work for me. She’s being friendly, and probably hoping the exchange makes her shift a little more enjoyable.
I appreciate that. I really do.
I just don’t always have the energy or inclination to participate in the way people expect. And sometimes the effort isn’t in the words themselves. It’s in switching my attention, deciding how to respond, keeping the interaction going, and making sure my preference for quiet doesn’t come across as a personal rejection.
So I’ll continue saying good morning. I’ll ask how people are doing when it makes sense. I’ll make polite conversation when the situation calls for it. I may even discuss the weather if absolutely necessary.
But I reserve the right to think that some of these conversations could have been avoided without any measurable harm to society.
Sometimes I genuinely want to know how you’re doing. Sometimes I would love to hear about the project you’re excited about, the problem you’re trying to solve, or the strange thing you’ve been thinking about lately.
And sometimes I’m just trying to get my coffee.
So if you ask me how I am and I say, “Hanging in there,” please don’t panic. That’s not necessarily a request for intervention. It’s simply the most accurate answer I can offer without requiring you to clear your afternoon.
And if I say, “Good, how are you?” you can safely assume I’ve completed the standard social protocol.
Congratulations to both of us.
Now we can stop talking.