Monday, July 31, 2006

Dinner plans and pretty birds

Here’s the thing.

I’m not so good with small talk. Shameful, isn’t it?

Now I can be a delightful companion. I’m not at all bored by your stories! I can listen to what you had for dinner or how this guy cut you off in traffic but was rather cute so it was almost OK or how the parking lot was full and you had to drive around for 10 whole minutes to find a spot. Those are all valid topics of conversation – light and easy. I can ask questions and offer comments about nearly any issue and like to think I’m relatively easy to talk to.

Unless you’re counting on me for a topic of conversation. Remember when I spent several days in Hawaii? Talked to a dear friend all the time? We would lie on beaches or sprawl out on her lanai to watch the ocean, face each other over dinner and take walks. We’d often sit in silence – I’d marvel at how very pretty it was there, dig out my camera to take a few pictures. But when I’d bring up things to discuss?

“What would you do if you only had a year to live?”
“If you could live anywhere, where would you go?”
“Do you think people have a unique soul mate or that there are a number of people who could make you happy?”
“How would it feel to be homeless?”
“What’s up with global warming?”
“How badly do you think we irritate God?”

Seriously. And I wonder why I have so very few friends. The fact is you have to love me to put up with this crap.

I sent email to someone I liked awhile ago. We haven’t been in touch lately, but one moment sticks out from one of our conversations. He told me, not unlike some of these comments, that I was putting too much pressure on myself. Not everything had to be framed so nicely, not every opening line had to be thoughtful. I could send the phone book and he’d reply. (How sweet! This is why I adore having crushes on smart men.)

So I told him I was not so good at small talk. That if I didn’t have something I felt was worthwhile to say, I wasn’t going to say anything. Quoting directly,

“Sending you something like ‘So my commute took longer than usual this morning. The weather here should be gorgeous after the sun burns off this haze. Then on my walk to the office, I saw this really pretty bird.’ strikes me as wrong.”

I think I look at relationships with most people as finite. And, in the case of this man, I was right. We’re no longer in touch, which is fine – it’s not like I’m in constant mourning for those people who have been around for a brief time then moved on. I think of these acquaintances fondly and like to think of them as being quite happy. But when I have a chance to interact with people I find bright and charming, I want to offer something I think is important.

Likewise, I’m writing to record these years – it’s part of how I justify my time here. When I look back on this, I want to smile and shake my head in embarrassment. Perhaps nod along a couple times because I was right about some thoughts. And it’s not that my dinner plans or details of my commute are secret – they just don’t register for me. I don’t tend to bring them up with anyone.

In Hawaii, M was encouraging me to call a man – a different one than I just mentioned. (Wow. You’d almost think I had a life if you were reading this post. Never fear – I don’t.)

“And say what?” I said, confused. I’m not good on the phone in general, and I never make a call unless I have some topic in mind. It’s worse if I like him. Then in addition to being too serious, I’m also nervous. It’s, um, less than impressive.

“Anything!” M replied in her high pitched little voice. “You say, ‘Hello. What’d you do today? What’d you have for dinner? Did anything make you laugh?’ You just talk! You talk to me all the time – it’s not like you don’t know how.”

“M,” I sighed. “I have never asked you what you were doing for dinner unless I wanted you to go get something to eat with me. We only talked about dinner plans in grad school because I like eating out.”

“Hmmm. I see your point. But still! You should call him.”

I shook my head – calling just to talk? Asking about details of his life? Offering pieces of my own day? It’s just so intimate. Doesn’t sound like something I’d do unless I knew someone really well. So I didn’t call him. Because I find those moderate conversations – not overly serious (“What do you think happens when you die?”) but not overly light (the infamous dinner question. Do people really talk of such things? I’m not trying to be condescending here – honestly. I just have never thought to offer such information) - difficult to initiate with people at first. So I either think of a cute story or think though something that bothers me or try to be entertaining or I’m quiet. On and offline.

It’s just me. And it’s not great.

I mentioned the pretty bird in the middle of a “small talk marathon” in a subsequent email.

After describing my trip to work, I wrote “Then I saw that pretty bird. I almost didn't notice him since he was sitting in the middle of this bush and his brown body blended in. But he had the prettiest shade or orange on his chest. So I found myself pleased that I noticed him.”

In describing my day – all the details that didn’t add up to an analogy or any real point, I felt strange. It was out of character. I expected a change in subject, frankly. I didn’t give him much to respond to – no question on the value of higher education, insights into my relationship with my parents.

I was delighted with his response – will likely always smile over him when I notice birds for some reason. I find the reactions to small talk fascinating. Watch most people interact with each other in a detached, nearly bored manner. And I don’t want to offer up my dinner plans to watch someone’s eyes glaze over. I hate feeling that people are obligated to listen and are battling boredom the whole time.

So I grin when I walk Chienne and notice our feathered friends because he wrote, “Did the pretty bird make you happy? Did you point him out to others? Did he fly away and make you sad? Was he singing?”

I happen to think that interest in the small details speaks of friendship. So though I’m not good at sharing the “fluff” (though saying most of what I write isn’t fluff makes me seem far more pretentious than I actually am) and likely won’t do it often, I appreciate that you’re willing to hear it. I think that’s very kind and offers some idea of your character.

As far as my character? I smile and shake my head because I’m highly unlikely to point out the pretty bird and much more likely to say something like…

“So. What’s up with global warming?”

7 comments:

phd me said...

But really, how badly do we irritate the almighty? I think I'd enjoy having dinner with you!

ScienceWoman said...

This post fit perfectly with what I was thinking about as I went to get lunch today (Quizno's if you care!). I was thinking about your last post, and I suddenly remembered your question game from a few months ago. It seems like the perfect time to start another round.

But I won't answer this question. It's too tantalizing a distraction from what I really need to be writing - a totally esoteric paper 3. And so, off I go.

Lucy said...

I think you stole my post! Except I haven't written it yet, so I'm going to steal yours...
I can't do small talk either and I have never in my life called somebody just to talk. If someone asks how my day was, I don't usually have anything to say other than "fine", and then I worry I sound antisocial so I have to try to think of some little thing that happened so that I have something to say.
I'm no good at starting any conversation either, but I think I might have a lot more to say if anyone I knew in real life wanted to discuss the questions you mentioned.

rented life said...

that last question is a total conversation killer with me and my husband. i learn to shy away from many of the questions you put up only because of the reactions I get from them. I'd LOVE to have someone to talk with about that stuff..."real" stuff. But I don't really. So talking with others is usually about the garden, pets, checking in on how people are doing...It's ok but I hate such e-mail exchanges after awhile. I don't care that SIL planted a bunch of squash. I do care how she feels about her parents choices lately, about her views on religion and money but people don't want to talk seriously about that. I'd so love to debate and talk on all those questions and more.

Your bird story reminds me of times my mom e-mailed me or called to say she say the first Robin up north. Every year. That'll be the whole phone call.

ceresina said...

I hate small talk too. (Also, I do terribly at conference(s), because I never know what to say to the people I'm supposed to impress so that they'll want to work with me.) I don't find it as useless as you do, but I don't like boring people, and I don't like being intrusive, and I don't know where the line is. And then, like Lucy, I fret I'm being anti-social. And rude.
On the other hand, I like rented life's story about how her (his?) mom always called or e-mailed just about the first robin of spring. I think that's a nice tradition to have.

Locks said...

hi katie,

thanks for reading. your blog is awesome. i often have the very same feelings concerning writing and revisions.

all the best,
locks

rented life said...

ceresina, (I'm a her btw) My mom can call you then. B/c after awhile it becomes a competition of who sees the robin first. I tend to lose. At the same time--she reminds me to stop and enjoy life currently instead of the go go go.

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