Monthly Archives: February 2012

A Few Thoughts on The Art of Conversation

So Friday night I got together with a few friends for intentional conversation, and the topic was…well, conversation.   We asked questions like, “If you’ve just had a great conversation with someone, what were the things that made for the greatness of the time?”  ”What are conversation killers?”  ”What do you expect when you enter into conversation?”  ”How do you keep a hospitable conversation going when opposing viewpoints are in play, especially about topics such as politics or religion?”   “What do you do when the person you’re talking to never asks you a question?”  ”What do you do when one person dominates a conversation between a roomful of people?”  ”How do you ensure that lesser voices get heard?”

We had this conversation as a sort of test run for an experiment I’m planning on dabbling with this year.   Along with a couple of dear, like-hearted friends, I’m going to be hosting a series of evenings during the year centered on intentional conversations between friends about things that simply need to be talked about.  The word “salon” comes to mind, but I doubt what we’ll be doing could be called a salon, but perhaps merely salon-esque.   I have a general list of topics going, but I want to stay alive to that new ideas that will present themselves as we go.  We’ll certainly talk art, music, and  theatre, and what else?   Maybe politics, or at least subjects with political implications, maybe faith and/or religion (I’ve been talking about those kinds of topics for years), and hopefully some science and sociology as well.   (After watching the Oscars last night, it would be great fun to unpack the meaning of celebrity, achievement, honoring of achievement, beauty, the state of racial justice in the U.S. film industry, etc.)

But I wanted to start with an evening about the art of talking.   My impression is that there’s fairly wide agreement that the tone of much public discourse is toxic, and for many people, that toxicity creates a barrier of entry into meaningful conversation.    Our need for dialogue and connection has perhaps never been greater, and the best that can be said about our skills for entering into those dialogues effectively is that we need work.    One thing we came away with in our conversation Friday night was the fact that we just don’t get the kind of opportunity we need to actually sit down and practice the skills that make for great questions, high quality listening, the considerate and humane exchange of ideas, and great conversation that nudges all toward better relationship and deeper truth.

There was nothing scientific about the discussion, and we weren’t really seeking to prove anything.   So we each walked away with different ideas ringing in our minds, and there was no “here’s the next step” sort of conclusions.   At best, we took some thoughts with us to mull over.   Here are a few of them:

1) Conversation and relationship has the best chance when we are working to discover, to remember, and to protect the other’s humanity.

2) Empathy and compassion are built across bridges of human likeness.   The very notion that we should be able to honor differences is a shared notion, one of the ways in which we are alike.

3) Authenticity is paramount.   At the same time, expression and restraint are in tension, and there are times when your authenticity of expression must give way to a wise use of restraint on behalf of the other.

4) “Winning” is a very different intention than “Building relationship.”

5) The quality of the questions asked determines much about the shape and quality of the conversation.

6) One-upmanship is a conversation killer.  ”I know, I felt the same way.  Here’s what happened to me (and it’s way more interesting that what happened to you!)   Sure, on the front end, it’s establishing connection, but by the third time, I’m just getting annoyed.

7)  Being slow to take offense is one way to keep a conversation going.

8)  The best questions open up possibilities instead of narrowing them.

9)  There’s far too much information for anyone to learn it all.  That means there will always been something to learn from the person you’re talking to.

10) Conversations driven by hidden agendas are not relationship building conversations.

11) Genuine curiosity is a huge help.

12) So is humor.

What about you?  What do you value in conversation?

 

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New York City

The truth is, New York gets a bit less daunting with every visit.  Watching my daughter Amy navigate the juggernaut that is NYC inspires me and humbles me, and at the same time makes the whole NY life seem much more doable, if not completely attractive.  I don’t have any great desire to live in New York…Seattle is fabulous, and we’re loving it here.  But when both your kids are living there and they’re constantly doing performances that you’d like to see…well, we’ll just have to see what the future holds.

The Cloisters, the Brooklyn Bridge, the 9-11 Memorial, great French food compliments of Marsailles in Midtown (Amy works there as a server), two Broadway plays (one starring Alan Rickman), two off-Broadway plays (one by Teresa Rebeck), the Whitney Museum (big disappointment because of all the floors closed), tons of walking, and some great time with my daughter.   The 75¢ coffee was a treat (because of price, not taste), and the constant barrage of languages was pretty wonderful.

Lots of energy on those streets, and lots of downcast eyes; I suppose those eyes strike me as much as anything.  It’s a city of tremendous bustle and life, but that’s not the same thing as saying it’s a city of joy.  I intentionally scanned the crowd constantly to see if anyone had their eyes up and shining, as if expecting something exciting to happen, something that would bring them substantial joy and fulfillment, even if just for a moment.   I’m sure there’s tons of that kind of expectancy in NY, but I didn’t see much.  At least not on the street.   We were more likely to run into that sort of thing in coffee shops and restaurants and audiences waiting for plays, though honestly, lots of people in those places look a bit haggard as well.    It’s a tough life; exciting, and tough.  I couldn’t be more proud of Amy and the way she’s taken it on.

Churches are all over the place, beautiful structures that have no doubt mostly seen fuller days.   I caught sight of a few lone souls wandering into a few of them as I passed by.    I wanted to go in and pray on a couple of occasions, but didn’t.  On the other hand, I prayed a lot wandering the streets.  Not really praying for anything (except perhaps, for my children, seeing as how they’re going to invest so much of their lives in this city), for God to do anything, as much as just trying to sense His presence on those streets.   He’s there all right, but from the once-in-a-while visitor’s perspective, the human presence is so thick, so celebrated, and so guarded that divinity seems to slip into hiding pretty easily.

The subway’s energy captures much of the tone of not only the city, but the general state of that old stand-by, the human condition.  The cars we ride in are moving, shuttling us about, but while we’re in the car, we sit, bundled up, controlling the borders around us, guarding personal space, minimizing personal contact with those squeezed in alongside.  Each stranger is a mystery to us, full of potential goodwill and malice, and everything in-between.   And it’s completely practical to manage ourselves this way, given what we know about the world around us.

But then strangeness begins.   A limping man with a cane rides from one stop to another listlessly preaching the gospel of Jesus, though much of what he said was undecipherable, even though he was standing right in front of us.   And there were the dancers, three young men who flew through the air in tight little spaces, spinning crazy circles, break dancing, delighting some, annoying others: I was glad to hear the applause at the end.  And a woman loudly, drunkenly digging through her suitcases for something, her pants not covering her very well as she bent over digging furiously.  The few of us in the car just then shared that all too familiar embarrassment when nutty stuff happens, and no one knows what to do, each one doing the car crash curiosity dance.  Don’t look, don’t look–oh, you looked, and it’s just too strange for words.

And then, there’s the Cloisters.  A branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art dedicated to Medieval European art that opened to the general public back in the late 30′s, the Cloisters were a high point of the trip.  Dark, quiet and beautiful, the Cloisters combined with the clear, crisp day outside to make a strong counterpoint to the speed and density of Midtown.  The monk in me will never die, I suppose, and I could have stayed in the various chapels for hours.   As it was, I got a couple of beautiful pictures of Amy in quiet space, and given that she’s taking the acting road and all the difficulty that entails, I’m going to carve out that quiet space for her, and hold her there often.

We have to carry the quiet with us…inside…

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