Blogs and Conversation

The Observation Deck card says: "Ask a Question." Here's one: Why do I write this blog?

One reason is to record my voice. I've wished many times that I had more samples of the voices from my past--those I've loved and lost. Another reason is that I want to capture certain ideas I find valuable and remember them for future reference. Sometimes I look up an old blog I've written to remind myself of things I've figured out before, like Gretel following the trail of breadcrumbs through the dark forest.

A third reason is that I've always enjoyed writing. Why? Words fascinate me, and putting them down in just the right way to truly express an idea gives me satisfaction and joy. Just as others might express themselves with a painting or a song or a scientific experiment or a challenging rock climb, I express myself best with words.

A related question running through my mind quite often is: Why is it so damn hard these days to find good conversation? Sherry Turkle published a NYT article a few weeks ago called "The Flight from Conversation" that bemoans our tendency to focus on short electronic communications rather than the admittedly more messy, stop-and-start of genuine, real-time connection that can actually be had by looking someone in the eyes for an extended period of time, listening carefully and patiently to what is said, and then responding in turn. We do this, God help us, even when a person is sitting right there (I do it too). A recent Atlantic article asks: "Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?". Perhaps so.

In the olden days (my children), there were salons where intellectuals gathered for fascinating discussion. I fantasize about starting a monthly conversational potluck, where everybody brings a dish for dinner and a topic written on a slip of paper. Over dinner we would draw one topic at a time for discussion.

What could possibly go wrong? A political or religious topic might throw the group into heated argument--what joy! Or...nobody would know how to get started because we've all forgotten how to actually converse. People would clam up, or retreat to the bathroom to check their iPhones. But surely intelligent, verbally adept people could get beyond these obstacles. The more I think about it the more I love the idea, but I also fear rejection--what if I try it but nobody wants to come? They'd rather stay at home "liking" on Facebook and tweeting into the ether, or simply enjoying peace and quiet. As Sartre pointed out, "Hell is other people." Can conversational skills actually atrophy? Real conversation still happens for captive audiences on airplanes who are wirelessly deprived, so I see a glimmer of hope. Although I admit I am the first one to bury my nose in the book on the airplane, sending the clear signal that I Don't Want to Talk...perhaps I should revisit that.

Ribe Tuchus (Sit Still)

According to the Observation Deck, the literal Yiddish translation of ribe tuchus is "rub your bottom on the chair."

Flannery O'Connor had a rule that she would sit at her writing desk for three hours each day. If she had nothing to write she would stare at the wall, but she often did have something interesting to say as we know. I also find that by sitting still with my notebook I often surprise myself by having something to say after all--sometimes I get a jump start by observing my immediate surroundings and describing them. 

Right now I see a slender young woman sitting immediately on the other side of the coffee shop window on the patio, feet up on one of the black wrought iron chairs, typing on her laptop. It's hard to imagine how she can see anything on the computer screen in the bright sunlight, but she continues to continue. She's dressed in a green-toned camouflage tank top, extremely short faded denim cutoffs, a two-inch wide belt beaded in orange and turquoise, many silver bracelets on both wrists with one pulled up past her elbow, and large silver hoop earrings--but she wears no rings at all. Her long, dark hair is piled high on her head with a few strands artfully coiling down to frame her face. She wears woven ankle-high sandals. She chews gum furiously as she finally decides to move herself to the shady half of the table where there is some hope she might be able to view the computer screen and opens two books on her lap, pen in hand, a page of notes peaking out from underneath the laptop and flapping gently in the breeze. She takes a brief call on her cell phone and then turns back to her work.

I'm guessing she's a CU student and I once again feel that surge of envy I often have for those whose entire focus in life is learning. I didn't appreciate it as much as I could have in my youth. Of course if asked, this young woman might assure me that her life is far more complicated than simply learning, and a far cry from the bliss I imagine. In any case, I remind myself that I also continue to learn at my work, through my experiences with people and technology and in brief furious spates of research, for example each time I hear yet another technical acronym that is new to me. One of the best things in life is that we continue to learn until the very end; all that's required is that we remain open and curious.