I myself have developed several algorithms for doing small talk when it is required, in order to help other people feel secure in my presence and thus improve my overall well-being through social cohesion. But what I struggle with is how this simple thing often escalates into a whole cultural performance. For having expressed “Hello, I see you, and you see me,” a veritable avalanche of small talk must then continue in which the participants go to extraordinary lengths to continue to talk about absolutely nothing of any significance or merit whatsoever, in a process that neither party seems to enjoy past the initial moment of connection. It is as if having established that each sees the other, they then agree by mutual consent to not look too closely, just in case they see something vulnerable, hurting, true.
Or stranger still: you open with “Hello, isn’t the weather foul?” and before you know it, that little open door results in a flood of “Well actually my mother died yesterday and I’ve got a dreadful lung infection and it’s not getting better and I’ve been struggling to get out of bed in the mornings and my children won’t speak to me but you know, you know, it is what it is, isn’t it?”
Under no circumstance must you say something meaningful in response to this; merely listen politely and reply, “That must be hard for you,” even if what you are hearing is a kind of death.
A little connection, but never too much. This is the normality of the interaction, but the rules on how little is too little, how much is too much are never clear or explained. You are meant to “feel it out” and woe betide you if you get that judgement even marginally wrong, for then all connection is lost and you are other, other, other, and must alone continue, shunned for breaking a law that was never codified, violating a trust whose limits were never clear.
Slow Gods by Claire North
