I was having lunch by myself last week, sitting next to two men (who I inadvertently eavesdropped on) having the most boring conversation ever. I would easily say it was also the least successful conversation ever. Each person was just waiting for their turn to talk at the other, neither caring or hearing what the other was saying.
It made me feel so sad for them.
Because my lunches are so much more amazing than theirs. Because I believe strongly that if I am doing anything, even the most basic of activities, it sure as hell is going to be interesting. Sparkling, vibrant, fantastic. Always. Boring is not an option. Grumpy and mundane? Neither survive in my world.
So I could't help but reflect on the art of conversation, and where we are now with the advent of messaging substitutes for face-to-face interactions. Are we really reduced to a text message culture? Are SnapChats and Facebook updates as good as the real thing?
I wouldn't say so, but I wouldn't be surprised if my peers disagreed.
Because there's something really satisfying for me in peeling past all the layers of a person and really getting into the meat of their personality. Stripping through the ego, asking the right questions to get behind the gate, figuring out just how to make someone new smile, or blush, or laugh. (When you get the full body belly laugh, that's how you know you're in.)
I'm flabbergasted at the idea of spending leisure time with someone who is a dreadful conversationalist. Go read a book. Play some music. Watch that hit drama. Then come back to me with something to talk about.