We used to live in a world where time held space, and in that space, humans spoke to one another. Not only spoke, but engaged in mirthful, intelligent, and heartfelt conversation. At a coffee shop, there was no silence. There were the distinctive sounds of customers laughing and of servers giggling, which filled the entire store. There was a certain beauty in striking up a conversation with an intriguing stranger and never seeing them again. There was whimsical delight in hearing the coffee shop owner talk about the beans he sourced from overseas, as if each cup was now filled with magic from a mystical land. There was magic, and beauty, and delightfulness in the quietest of conversation.
If you were to walk into that same coffee shop today, it’s still far from silent. Yet the sound is very different now. The laughter that previously filled the shop has now been replaced with the clicking of keyboards, the ping of incoming e-mails, and the chopped soundbites of TikTok videos. It seems like time is moving so fast, and as a result, fewer people are pausing long enough to sit down with another person and simply talk. Conversation has become an art that has been neglected, and although society has become more connected, I would say that we are more alone than ever.
Over the last two decades, technology has undoubtedly provided us with some of the most valuable tools of our time: the ability to connect to anyone from anywhere. You can watch a video of a girl going shopping in a country you’ve never been to. You can see your favourite celebrities’ houses on a livestream. You can play Call of Duty with someone from across the globe. All of these things are impressive achievements that are worth celebrating, but it does not negate the fact that despite being so close to others virtually, we are slowly losing the art of connection and conversation in real life.
We live in a world where many young people would rather send a text message than make a phone call. A world where waiting rooms, once places of chatter, are now seas of bowed heads illuminated by the harsh glow of blue light. Unfortunately, I fear it’s only getting worse. On university campuses, the contrast between generations is clear. After group work ends, many students don’t try to start conversations as they would have done in the past. Instead, they sit in silence, glued to a phone or awkwardly staring at a wall. We are all guilty of this, I know I am. It feels like we’ve forgotten how to talk to one another. During the Covid-19 pandemic, many of us never had the chance to make our faux pas, to stumble through awkward silence. As a result, many of us never developed the skills needed to navigate the complexities of human interactions. In those missed moments, we lost the ability to create meaningful conversation, to connect to one another, and as we lose connection, we lose the ability to understand nuance, to understand viewpoints, to empathise with one another. We can already see this cultural shift throughout the world. The rise of fear, hatred, and division is so clear to see on the news, and when we continue to sit in silence instead of engaging with each other, we fall deeper into this dangerous territory.
In the winter, I often look out my window and I see children playing with each other in the snow. Children that have just met. Children from everywhere, talking and playing together as if they had known each other for years. They are fearless in their curiosity, and unafraid of awkwardness. I think that this openness is something we, as adults, have forgotten. We retreat behind our screens, we hesitate to speak, we fear saying the wrong thing, when in truth, the very act of conversation is meant to be imperfect. It’s meant to be full of stumbles and surprises. If we could recapture even a little of that childlike intrigue, I think that our conversations might become fuller, more generous, more alive.
True conversation is a courtship, not a transaction. It’s where both parties decide to bring their ideas about the world and open themselves to discussion. True conversations lie not in the words that are spoken, but in the way they make you feel. The rush of annoyance as someone says something so unbelievably crass, the joy felt when someone says exactly how you feel but couldn’t verbalise. It’s this ability to relate on an emotional level that distinguishes us from our primate relatives, and as transient as it may be, it’s important. It’s what makes us human.
I don’t think the art of conversation is lost forever. It’s waiting patiently for us to return to it. It begins with something as small as asking a question and truly listening to the answer. With setting down a phone and meeting someone’s gaze. With daring to linger in silence, to laugh without restraint, to follow a story wherever it leads. I don’t think conversation is about solving problems or exchanging information. I think it’s about bearing witness to another human being and allowing them to bear witness to us. And in a world that often feels hurried, fractured, and isolating, perhaps there is no art more urgent to reclaim.