what happened to conversations?
narcissism killed them, of course
by Santa Liza
Everyone I know is starved for conversation. Actually, that’s an understatement, they’re famished. It has been months, even years since they last let their soul touch another. This is bad.
There’s a funny thing that happens if you go without eating for long enough: you lose your appetite. I think of it as your body forgetting that it wants the food, and even what it tastes like. That’s partly why eating after a fast feels so good, you’re tasting with a fresh tongue. This is also the case with conversations.
Some folks have gone so long without it they’ve forgotten what a good conversation feels like. They can’t even imagine the possibility of one occurring. It’s like living in the city, after a while you forget the sky has stars. (Yeah, I know you haven’t seen them in a while, but they’re there, and are still really pretty. You should go stare up at them sometime.)
Some of them drown their minds in words, burrowing into books in search of a voice — any voice — that will speak to them. I know I did, and I know others who have. But I also know that this is not a panacea; the soul withers without a way to share its contents with a close fellow. You can only spend so long conversing with strangers, can make only so much small talk before you decide it isn’t worth speaking anymore. And turn back to books.
Others cover their hearts with grief, and dig themselves in. It’s surprisingly easy to hold onto loneliness, after a while you start to believe it’s part of you. Once you define yourself by your isolation, you’ll fight to keep it around. You might even start to show it off, like a wedding ring. Except this one represents the absence of a relationship instead of its existence.
Some try to fuck it away, trying to replace the hunger for mind-melding with physical intimacy. That works, until it doesn’t. The thing about casual sex, is that it attracts a bunch of similarly avoidant types. People who are trying to hide as much as you are, the blind fucking leading the blind, so to speak.
And so, all around me, are people who crave an intimacy that’s difficult to ask for, let alone find. Not just intimacy, but understanding. Expression. Catharsis, even. They know there’s something missing, but they’ve forgotten where to find it.
In a way, this is why the therapy meme became so strong. People were willing to pay for someone — anyone — to just listen. And what was once the privilege of friendship became a job, a professional occupation. Why did it happen? Because narcissism won.
That word gets thrown out a lot, often by narcissists themselves. But few people do a good job with defining it, so I’m going to do it here. Narcissism is about wilful self-delusion, and seeing everyone through your own unchanging lens. And being the kind of person who avoids looking reality in the eye because they’re afraid of any kind of pain. Narcissists are cowards.
Narcissism also involves foisting your lens on the other because that’s all you’re good at. Narcissists cannot afford to be wrong, too much of their self-worth (i.e. all of it) is tied up in…themselves.
Often, narcissism is conflated with selfishness, but the latter is downstream of the former. Narcissists don’t walk around trying to be selfish, they might even *try* to be generous. They fail because their idea of generosity is limited to what they think they should be giving, as opposed to what the other person is looking for. They do this for everything — gifts, affection, attention — even conversations.
The best conversationalists are obviously the most curious. Necessarily so, since a dialogue requires both parties to draw out the infinite depth of the other. The reason narcissists are bad at conversations is that they run into the bottom of their own shallow souls pretty quickly, there’s only so much of yourself you can talk about before it starts to get repetitive. And narcissists hate remembering their own limits.
In a desperate last resort, they will to speak about other people. But it will always be people that they want to talk about. Their favourite artists, their annoying friends, their frustrated hopes. Meanwhile, a good conversation requires both parties to weave a mesh of experience together, playing against one and other, supplementing strengths for weaknesses, swapping perspectives and frames. A conversation involves mutual growth, or none at all.
Of course, narcissists love to think they love growth. They probably have a tattoo that reads “growth” in a fancy serif font across their ankle. But their version of growth involves a self-increase that is merely a desire to become bigger. More powerful, more in control. They cannot afford to be subsumed by the meaning around them, that would involve surrendering the self. So they’re desperate to integrate it instead of becoming a part of anything bigger than themselves..
Occasionally, they can break free, with the help of 80 proof vodka, they can let go of their inhibitions and let their soul seep through. They still don’t have anything to say though. They might cry a bit, repeat a few words that seem really important at the time. It feels like it’s a big deal, but it’s just a shallow fling. It’s the closest they get to seeing what a real conversation is like.
But it’s still pretty far from what a good one can be.
What’s the opposite of narcissism? Building a shared reality, and inhabiting it regardless of any initial discomfort. Living in a house built by a stranger is surprisingly pleasant experience. I mean, it’s what we do everyday. The walls might be made of solid brick, and you only have so much control over the design, but it can still be a comfy home. It will not be perfectly suited to either of you. It will be messy and surprising, often painful. You’ll both be wrong and learn to be okay with that.
This is where therapy often fails. A therapist tries to comfort. They build the equivalent of a pillow fort for conversations. Pleasant and smooth-edged, but always constricted. You aren’t allowed to leave the fort, they have a job to do, and it involves preventing discomfort. You have a mask to wear, and you’re (rightly) never going to let a stranger see behind it. Therapy is not a place for conversation, not in any real way.
You could be having so many good, no great, conversations. But people are shy, scared creatures. I write this post to tell you (as always) that this does not have to continue. And that it’s worth looking for good partners, and worth building the space for great conversations.
Building isn’t easy. It isn’t hard either. It’s just something that needs to be done if it is to ever happen. Without it, entropy reigns supreme. Rocks erode, grass withers, memories fade. People drift apart when neither of them cares enough to keep pulling.
Sometimes you have to be the one pulling, even if it’s just to tug them into remembering you’re there. If they pull back, don’t shy away. Let them in, you owe it to both of you to see how deep this can go.
Phone calls are great for this. Video calls…kinda suck. Maybe because you can see yourself while you talk, and real freedom requires you to not care about stuff like that. Text messaging is surprisingly good (especially past midnight), if both parties have the time to talk without serious interruption. But those times are rare, and bandwidth is limited by fingers instead of voice.
Sitting before, beside, or on (yes, on) each other works the best. Conversations involve the body as much as they do the mind. A conversation is the sum of all messages, and everything is a message. From an eyebrow raise to a clenched fist.
Some of the best ones happen on long walks. You should really try those.
Rehashing things is good, especially if they’re shared things. Feel the corners of the structure you’ve built until they become familiar, not every visit needs to be a novel experience. There is an art to dialogue, and art stems from experience.
Above all, strive to be one of the few who encourage conversation in a world of people who are losing their ability to meld minds. You have no idea who desperately needs one, and how good it could be for the both of you. Far too many chances for camaraderie are lost to careless negligence.
I write to remind you that conversations are worth fighting for.