The Art of Conversation - Catherine Blyth [96]
The concept of “quality time” (invented in 1970s corporate America, gaining general currency in the cash-and-grab culture of the 1980s) implies that we sense much of it is impoverished. But such language is also a license to dole it out grudgingly, as if to convince us it is proper that most hours should be distracted, second best, or negligible; a warrant to neglect that we like to imagine is benign. Why else are TVs in toddlers’ bedrooms, DVD screens in backs of car seats, and teddies with computer games in their bellies? Today’s kids not only play with toys but expect them to interact. Does this help them interact with one another? I lost a year to a Donkey Kong game, in the playground, with a similarly fixated Mario Bros. fan. Her name? No idea. But I remember the girls at dance club.
Does your attention-seeking teenager have a point? Is that chore a joy in disguise—something satisfying to do while catching up with someone you like? I was never convinced by invitations to “Come paint my flat—we’ll have beers, it’ll be fun!” or “Build dry-stone walls in beautiful Cumbria—only £699!” But I’m prepared to rethink.
➺ Rule six: Spring-clean routines
Anyone can clear space in routines for conversation. Mealtimes, bathtimes, relaxation, hobbies—all potential shared times. Coordinate timetables; be in the same room. Turn off the central heating. If you can, leave the car, walk and, yes, shop together. Want to spare the other person the trouble? If you’re trogging around the supermarket while she watches TV, you’re depriving her of quality interaction. The best way to unwind, and create distance from stresses and strains, is to talk and put them into perspective.
And be hospitable. Invite someone to tea, coffee. These rituals once paced out the day, but have been downgraded to snacks grazed on the hoof, depleting their soul food: talk. As writer Bee Wilson points out, they’re kinder to host and guest:
“We must have you round to dinner” seems to slip inevitably out of one’s mouth as soon as a friendship reaches a certain stage. But how much more fun life would be, for lots of reasons, if we had people round for afternoon tea instead.
The bliss of tea is that it brings no expectations.
A slice of toast will do. Less fuss, less outlay, more fun for you.
➺ Rule seven: Make plans
Why fix to meet if we can improvise on the hoof?
Because you might not get around to it. Flexibility makes us flaky, and many city friends see each other less than out-of-towners because they feel less urgency about keeping in contact. Don’t settle for catch-ups by phone or email, which can deceive us that we’re in touch at the same time as they displace direct encounters. Be a stickler, buy a pocket calendar, fill it with indelible arrangements.
➺ Rule eight: Make it matter
Once you’re with them, leave the phone alone.
➺ Rule nine: Relish silence
Inevitably time feels impoverished, experience intangible, if we don’t notice spending it. Fast for a day: no TV, computer, music, PlayStation, film. Unplug the toys, plug in, be a tourist in your world, and you’ll find there is no silence: too much is going on.
What will you see? Whom will you meet? Perhaps you’ll have a conversation.
➺ Rule ten: You tell me
www.catherineblyth.com
CONVERSATION SURVIVAL KIT
Nervous? Prepare and travel light. Remember five points:
1. Attention: It’s not about you: Prepare to listen. Watch others’ faces, the clock by which to measure turns on the floor.
2. Imagination: Every utterance contains the seeds for further discussion (except, possibly, “Fine”).
3. Enthusiasm: The fount of inspiration.
4. Focus pull: Direct conversation to the other person’s interests: You’ll soon find what interests you about him.
5. Ingredients: Review topics as you might before a news quiz. One headline issue, one trivial, one gossipy.
There is no shortage of communication, but is it not telling that globalization has created Globish, a nuance-stunted Anglo-lingo spreading like ivy across the globe, which contains only fifteen hundred