Small Talk – The Death of Communication

                It’s a series of little deaths, every time my husband calls me (you see, our communication is nearly always via telephone, since I work all day and he works all night) and he says  … “HELLO?!” (It’s always a yelling sort of tone.)  I always thought that when you called someone, it was your responsibility to start a conversation.  As in, you call someone, they say hello, and you say something like, “Hi!  I was just thinking about you and I wanted to say hello.”  Or … “Hey, I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice, so I called.”  Or … “Life is like a box of chocolates.”  ANYTHING, but an atonal, irrelevant, uninterested “HELLO?!” 

                I detest small talk.  I would rather pull out my fucking fingernails than talk to people about the weather.  I want to be genuinely engaged by conversations.  Why is that asking so much?  I desperately need to talk to people about things that matter.  I need for the people in my life to engage me, rather than talking AT me about bullshit.  Life deserves to be digested and debated and embraced, not just trivialized and truncated.  I want the dream.  I feel like everyone deserves their dream, not some abbreviated version of it. 

You don't understand; no one does. When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife, and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected to move again, only you don't remember what moves you because no one has asked in so long. Not even yourself. You never in your life think that life can disappear so easily into the details – that your life can become something so ordinary and conventional.  It’s remarkable the extent to which people can forget what inspires them – can leave their youth and vigor behind in exchange for an illusion of stability or some disillusioned shot at the American Dream.

We want so much in life, and then we forget to go after it, because we get so entrenched in dishes and laundry and soccer practice ad bullshit.  We forget how important connections are – how important being in love is.  When the foundation is gone, you’re left trying to quick-step out of the sand – waiting for someone to say a word or reach out a hand and pull you out. 

Life should be beautiful every day.  There should not be a bridge we cross where we stop looking to improve ourselves.  We shouldn’t settle, in any sense of the word.  People who love each other make each other stronger and better versions of themselves.  They don’t belittle or marginalize or ignore.  Life should be a celebration; and while every moment can’t be revelatory, when the moments are collected, they should create a pattern that reflects the dream.  At least most of the time.  Disappointment is extraordinarily powerful, chipping away at who we are.  Casting shadows. 

                I want to do what I can to be happy in this life.  I don’t want to wait until my ashes are scattered in the Pacific to find a place that feels like home.  I’m so tired of pretending the small talk is enough.  It’s not.  I want it all.  And I think it’s out there somewhere; I just don’t have time to find it because my calendar is filled with the lives of other people.  I’m ready for my life to celebrate me, because only then will I teach my children the important lessons of life.  They should know to grab for genuine happiness, because it happens so infrequently.  I suck at making myself happy.  I give it all over to other people and have nothing left for myself.  I’m going to learn, and then I’m going to do.   Somehow.  Someway.  It’s the only way to live a life worth living.