It started with two incidents on the same day. In a fairly empty train carriage, a stranger in her 70s approached me: “Do you mind if I sit here? Or did you want to be alone with your thoughts?” I weighed it up for a split second, conscious that I was, in effect, agreeing to a conversation: “No, of course I don’t mind. Sit down.”
She turned out to be an agreeable, kind woman who had had a difficult day. I didn’t have to say much: “I’m sorry to hear that.” “That’s tough for you.” She occasionally asked me questions about myself, which I dodged politely. I could tell she was only asking so the conversation would not be so one-sided. Some moments are for listening, not sharing. I sensed, without needing to know explicitly, that she was probably returning to an empty house and wanted to process the day out loud. I didn’t feel uncomfortable, as I knew I could duck out at any moment by saying I needed to get back to my phone messages. But instead we talked – or, rather, I listened – for most of the 50-minute journey. I registered that it was an unusual occurrence, this connection, but thought little more of it. A small part of me was glad this kind of thing still happens.
That evening, I ate at a restaurant with my family. As the waitress brought the bill, we chatted and I learned that she was from Seoul. She was shy and softly spoken. We talked gently about Korean food and what she missed about home. Once again, I thought little of this exchange.
As we walked home, my 15-year-old son asked: “Is it OK to talk to people in that way?” “What way?” He was asking about the boundaries when it comes to talking to someone about their home country.
This was a very good question. How do you know, generally, what the terms are of a conversation with a stranger? I realised that there is a sort of unwritten code you learn as you get older, which enables you to assess whether a conversation is a good idea or not. I thought about the woman who had approached me earlier. How did she know it was OK to talk to me? In the end, I replied to my son: “You don’t always know if it’s OK. Sometimes you have to take the risk and find out.”
Then it struck me. A lot of people have given up taking a chance on other people: that they might want to listen, that they might want to talk. But they have also given up taking a chance on themselves: that they might be able to navigate a conversation with someone new, cope with knockbacks and steer a path through any misunderstandings.
View image in fullscreen Everybody needs good neighbours. Photograph: Harold M Lambert/Getty Images
The disappearance of these kinds of interactions from day-to-day life – in pubs, restaurants, shops, queues, on public transport – is striking. I have been talking to people tangentially about this for the past 10 years, ever since I started researching my book, How to Own the Room, which came out in 2018 and went on to become a podcast. This project was supposed to be about public speaking and confidence. But I realised from people’s reactions to the topic – especially younger people – that their deepest anxiety lies elsewhere, in something much more banal and inexpressible. Forget “public speaking”. What a lot of people don’t like at all any more is “speaking to anyone in public”.
Many reasons are cited: state-of-the-art don’t-talk-to-me headphones, mobile phones and social media generally, the rise of working from home, the introduction of touchscreens in takeaway restaurants so you barely interact with a human, the death of third spaces, the pandemic. In the end, the biggest excuse becomes “social norm reinforcement”. This is the idea that if no one talks to you, you don’t talk to anyone either. A casual conversation in a waiting room where no one else is having a casual conversation suddenly sounds not very casual at all.
On an individual level, some people perfectly understandably cite neurodivergence, introversion, inability to tolerate eye contact or an intense loathing for small talk (especially about the weather) as reasons to avoid these conversations. It’s certainly true that this time six years ago – at the height of lockdown – it would have been rude and unsafe to start a chat, let alone sit next to someone on a train. But now? It can feel as if everyone is still adhering to the 2-metre rule, employing “the tech shield” or even “phantom phone use” (pretending that you need to be on your phone when you don’t).
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