The Art of Conversation
Personal interaction has always been valued by our species and I like to think I’m an example of form meeting function. I enjoy being in situations where I am among strangers or people I don’t know very well. I consider it a personal challenge to forge a connection, even under unlikely conditions. During New York’s big blackout of 2003, I wound up walking from midtown to Queens with two engaging and energetic people I met outside Penn Station. As we crossed over the 59th Street Bridge on foot, we exchanged cell phone numbers in the dark to make sure at least two other people in the city knew where we were, even though there was no cell service to speak of. I actually still have both their numbers. If I called one of them all these years later and reminded them of how we met, I have no doubt we would have a lively conversation.
Perhaps as the daughter of a salesman father and outgoing mother I like that feeling of initiating a contact based on genuine interest because I watched it unfold before me so naturally while growing up. From my parents’ example, I learned that conversation consists of asking questions and then being responsive to the answers. That’s all it is. I’m always surprised when people say they don’t know what to say to people they don’t know. My attitude is that it’s an even playing field; if I don’t know them, then they don’t know me. So it’s a blank slate and we just take turns marking it until it starts to tell a story. It’s that story that determines if there will be more conversations in the future or if we are just two ships passing pleasantly in the night. Either way, as long as there are books, movies, current events, anecdotes, and things to make fun of, there is plenty to talk about.
When you’re married, you often find yourself in the company of the spouses of your husband or wife’s friends and they’re frequently as good as strangers to you. These are the times that juice me up the most, when there’s no obvious common thread of life experience. I recall an occasion when Husband and I were out to dinner with two other couples and none of the wives had met before. The only thing that connected us was our husbands. It was apparent right away that these other women were not talkers. As the guys chatted away, I knew my option was to either empty the bottle of Chardonnay or think up a clever way to engage. I went with group participation.
I complimented one of the women on her stylish dress, to which she responded as expected with a thank you. Then as they stared at me in silence, I said my favorite fashion look was retro forties; those Joan Crawford shoulders and peep toe platform shoes and hats slanted to the side. I told them it’s a look that has always spoken to me with a whisper of film noir and wartime romance. I asked my companions what era calls out to them and which places come alive in their fantasies beckoning them to where they truly belong. They looked at me stone-faced. One woman said outright that she never thought about it. I asked if she wanted to take a moment to consider it and she said not really. I looked hopefully at the other woman, the youngest among us. With no change in expression, she announced suddenly in a loud voice that she would have liked to walk with Jesus. Conversation halted at the surrounding tables. As our husbands turned to look at us, I emptied the bottle into my glass.
Cousin’s lens is on the Canada Maritimes
Perhaps as the daughter of a salesman father and outgoing mother I like that feeling of initiating a contact based on genuine interest because I watched it unfold before me so naturally while growing up. From my parents’ example, I learned that conversation consists of asking questions and then being responsive to the answers. That’s all it is. I’m always surprised when people say they don’t know what to say to people they don’t know. My attitude is that it’s an even playing field; if I don’t know them, then they don’t know me. So it’s a blank slate and we just take turns marking it until it starts to tell a story. It’s that story that determines if there will be more conversations in the future or if we are just two ships passing pleasantly in the night. Either way, as long as there are books, movies, current events, anecdotes, and things to make fun of, there is plenty to talk about.
When you’re married, you often find yourself in the company of the spouses of your husband or wife’s friends and they’re frequently as good as strangers to you. These are the times that juice me up the most, when there’s no obvious common thread of life experience. I recall an occasion when Husband and I were out to dinner with two other couples and none of the wives had met before. The only thing that connected us was our husbands. It was apparent right away that these other women were not talkers. As the guys chatted away, I knew my option was to either empty the bottle of Chardonnay or think up a clever way to engage. I went with group participation.
I complimented one of the women on her stylish dress, to which she responded as expected with a thank you. Then as they stared at me in silence, I said my favorite fashion look was retro forties; those Joan Crawford shoulders and peep toe platform shoes and hats slanted to the side. I told them it’s a look that has always spoken to me with a whisper of film noir and wartime romance. I asked my companions what era calls out to them and which places come alive in their fantasies beckoning them to where they truly belong. They looked at me stone-faced. One woman said outright that she never thought about it. I asked if she wanted to take a moment to consider it and she said not really. I looked hopefully at the other woman, the youngest among us. With no change in expression, she announced suddenly in a loud voice that she would have liked to walk with Jesus. Conversation halted at the surrounding tables. As our husbands turned to look at us, I emptied the bottle into my glass.
Cousin’s lens is on the Canada Maritimes
Comments