One of my fondest memories of being a kid in my parents’ home is doing the dishes. Of course, at the time, I hated that miserable, nightly chore, but in retrospect I can see that some of the best conversations and moments of deepest connection with my family members happened when one of us was elbow-deep in a sink full of suds and the other wielded a flour sack towel (we’re Midwestern, it was always a flour sack towel).
My family was small (just me, my parents, and my younger brother), but on Sundays, after dinner at my grandma’s house, doing the dishes was a downright raucous affair. The kitchen was packed with aunts and cousins clearing the table, scraping plates, washing, drying, and putting everything away. Often, several of us leaned against any available counter space waiting for a single dish to be done so we could ferry it to the cupboard. We didn’t all need to help, but often we wanted to because it was the perfect time to listen in on all the family news and gossip, and talk about whatever was weighing on our minds.
I’m convinced that doing chores together is a bit of a lost art in a day and age when dishwashers are ubiquitous and it seems everyone would rather bury their nose in a phone than have a conversation with a real, live person. And I’d be lying if I tried to pretend I don’t love my dishwasher (or my phone). But I do worry sometimes that the patterns of healthy living that were caught when I was a kid, need to be actively taught in a world where we don’t have the same experiences available to us. In particular, the craftsmanship of a thoughtful, meaningful conversation seems to be deteriorating.
Do you feel it, too? I struggle sometimes to get past small talk in a way that doesn’t feel awkward or rushed. I want to ask sensitive questions, listen carefully, express myself well, but I feel out of practice. Because I am. Because sometimes I carry on entire conversations via text message. Or I rush what should be a lingering discussion because my calendar doesn’t leave room to dally. Or I slip in my headphones because everyone around me is sporting an ear bud, too. And don’t even get me started on the modern idea that we need to “say it like it is” and be “truth tellers” no matter how ugly or hurtful our words may be.
Sincere, consequential, respectful conversations seem hard to come by these days.
Remember when for twenty minutes every day we were in a warm kitchen, side-by-side, undistracted, with nothing but our words to fill the space between us? I know I’m being sentimental, but I also feel—acutely—the importance of face-to-face connection and being able to share ourselves with others in real time, in the real world. I’m watching my kids grow up day by day without the benefit of simply absorbing this skill. It’s forcing me to think long and hard about how I want to teach the art of conversation to my children, and what I want them to know before they leave my house. If I could sit them down in front of a blackboard (yes, I used to be a teacher), here’s what I would say.
Mom’s Tips for Good Talks
Put your phone down. Better yet, leave it in another room. Even on silent, in your pocket, it’s a huge distraction and will, at some point, tempt you to pick it up. When that happens, you tell the person you’re with: “This (whatever is happening on my phone) is more important than you.”
Be curious. Ask questions. Say things like: Tell me more. Explain that a bit. Help me understand.
Listen more than you speak. If you worry that you’re talking too much, you likely are.
Avoid hyperbole. As in, don’t say “never” and “always” and “the worst” and “the best.” Extremes are polarizing and rarely true. If you want to be understood, take a moment to really consider what you mean and then say that instead of defaulting to ultimates for maximum impact. Instead of: “My friend always leaves me unread,” maybe: “It hurts my feelings when my friend leaves me unread.”
Make eye contact. Yes, my dear teens, constant eye-contact is creepy, but none is rude and dismissive. How can I know if you are hearing me if you won’t look at me?
Be nice. No, this doesn’t mean you have to lie, but it does mean that you consider the person you are talking to as a fellow human being worthy of your respect and kindness. How you say something often matters more than the words you say, so be aware of your expression, gestures, and tone.
Assume the best. No one is a perfect communicator. Chances are you will misunderstand each other from time to time, and blowing up about it benefits no one. Instead of freaking out, ask for clarification. Say: “What I hear you saying is…” This allows for adjustments and for meaning to be made clear.
Don’t expect perfection (in yourself or others). It’s okay to say: I need some time to think about that. I don’t know. Let me get back to you.
My list is far from perfect and far from complete. What would you add? Do you feel like great conversation is a dying art, too? I’d love to hear what you think.
Thanks for reading. xoxo - Nicole
I’m a proud member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Subscribe to one, two, or a few, and keep up with what’s going on in your neck of the woods.
I particularly like your emphasis on eye contact and listening. Wonderful suggestions all. Thank you!
It has long been my observation that the best conversations often happen when people are doing some degree of physical labor side by side. The work seems to allow for space, time to think more clearly. The conversation may feel like it is a by-product of the work when it often becomes the other way around. Physical labor is something we miss not only because our bodies need it but also because our minds need it. The conversation that results from working together always makes the work easier and the relationship stronger.