I have been
living in Europe for the last few years, and upon return, I’ve noticed a few
things of irkish nature, things that seem more resolutely “American” than ever. I’ve become aware of these things through
interactions, but also in the re-emergence of old habits and patterns that run
rather deep within myself (although I’m having a hard time convincing myself
that being caught red-handed (by myself) halfway through shoveling a jar of
crunchy peanut butter into my face is society’s fault).
First—my propensity
towards consumption has been disconcerting.
Not just food, but technology as well.
Hashtags ‘n shit. Specifically, the
quality of my consumption—namely how I
consume. What’s the point of checking my
email 5-10 times a day if I’m not going to sit down and really answer
them? What about eating food while standing
up, which contradicts my scoffing at drive-thru goers? Being constantly available to texts and
emails has led to an anxious ambient tension; an unconscious concern for
missing out; a frenetic radar for stimulation, constantly scanning all
horizons.
I wouldn’t
consider myself unhurried or calm by most measures (aforementioned peanut
butter binge—case in point), but I’ve noticed that this hunger for consumption
has altered the way that we—yes, I will risk generalization here—interact
significantly. What struck me most
immediately upon return was Conversation, and namely the lack thereof.
Growing up in
America, I guess I’ve been hardwired to shoot breeze, to la-tee-da it with one and
all, to keep up with the Joneses (and Clintons, and Bushes—wait, did big money
just get into small talk?!?! Sorry, had to…).
To Talk Small.
Small Talk is
Uncle Sam’s bread and butter. It’s what
we’re known for—gregarious openness, saying “how are you” and not meaning a lick of it. For the collective effervescence of getting
along, that lighthearted demeanor that most foreigners construe as superficiality;
or, as some might have it, “friendliness.”
[Digression: I
can’t help but think of that scene in The
Italian Job—which I watched countless times as a teenager, for reasons
still unbeknownst to me (let’s just say it’s hard to forgive yourself for at
some point or other truly believing that Mark Wahlberg was cool)—where Donald
Sutherland asks Charlize Theron how she’s doing, and she responds with, well,
what else—“fine.”
“You know what
“fine” stands for?” he counters.
“Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional.”
Shitty movie, but
a good point. End, Digression.]
Friendliness is
the great American social virtue. But in
being tainted by our penchant for consumption, social exchanges have felt
wildly A.D.D. and random to me—simply anything
but a pause, god forbid silence. Since I’ve
been back (I was living mostly in Germany), conversation has felt, at times,
like escapism.
I never knew the
quality of speaking slowly until I could speak German at a proficient
level. Somewhere amidst my progression
towards fluency, desperately grasping for words in order to translate the
images in my head became a steadied and measured feeling of pace, of allowing for
space between words, and larger silences between sentences—space for thoughts to
begin materializing into language.
Intention became more than a buzzword.
And in learning another language, I’ve intuitively begun recalibrating
my relationship to my mother tongue. I
like when conversations stay on topic, and can test myself to see if there’s
something hiding in me that I didn’t realize I thought. More than anything, I relish when people take
a moment to consider what they’re to say next; it reminds me of what makes
music interesting—the tension of the space between the notes.
Venting and Pontificating
aside (oh…wait, there’s more of that…), Small Talk stunt doubles as context and
the ultimate human lubricant (yes, that is the only word I can use there)—humor.
The exchange of X’s and O’s. Valuable
grease, really—good stuff. Not just for networking/connecting, but especially
when leveraged as fertile ground for Big Talk.
And in the grander scheme of things, Small Talk is beautiful in that it
might be our most accomplished democratic tendency—breeze can be shot between
most anyone.
If anything,
this is a declaration of a desired way of being; a reminder, and an
affirmation: if this is the type of conversation I’m seeking for, pointing my
finger at gross American culture isn’t going to help me get it.
Guess I’m going
to have to take this spoon out of my mouth first.
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