There Is No More Time for Small Talk

How are you doing today?

I sip my coffee slow today in an attempt to savor it, so that at least this moment of relative ease will linger, just like the remnants of cinnamon that seem to be sticking on my tongue.

When I entered my usual café this morning, I asked the lovely barista, who I see most days, how she was doing. The words trickled out of my mouth the same way that the wind blows the water off the leaves after a sudden burst of rain—heavy and quick. The question, how are you today, seems so human to me, though I found myself in an internal pause.

My inquiry lasted just long enough to see the uncertainty and exhaustion in her eyes, and I imagine that she and so many others are up against the same confronting query, moment after moment. Quickly, I notice this and try to do something as a gesture of, I know what you mean, and even, I am sorry for the continual probing you must be getting. I don’t say this, but I try to contort my face to resemble the words. I nod my head, close my eyes ever so gently, scrunch up my face, as if to say, “Right, yes, I know.”

How are you today?

I do believe that I truly want to know. Though I am not certain she wants to tell me, or even if she has any space to actually answer. I envision her being able to close her eyes, slip inside herself, and conjure up her truth, though—I don’t ask for permission, and there truly is no time, by design I am sure. Yet, what I want her to know is that I care. I deeply care.

Care is such a funny word. It is a verb, I am certain. It sounds so simple rolling off my tongue. Care. One syllable, that’s all. And yet, it can be so hard to know how to give it, when it is appropriate, what to say, and how to show it. Though I know how strongly we need it and, even more, how deeply I want to live in a world where it flows freely.

As I grab my coffee, I place my hand over my heart, tilt my head down, and soften my eyes. The words that spill out are, thank you, but the gesture, I notice, holds so much more.

It seems sort of wild to be asking, “How are you today?” in just a regular way. It feels so out of touch, and not so easy to say without having a swirling of other feelings bubbling up. Yet, I crave the knowing. I crave connection. I crave being able to meet another in their humanness and for me to also feel mine.

Last year, I was taught by my son’s teacher that when asking, “How was your day?” to instead ask more open-ended questions like, “Who did you play with? What did you do outside? Did you make anything interesting?” I have to admit that I do ask those questions eventually, but often the words that still to this day make it out of my mouth first are, “How are you? How was your day?”

To which he replies, Good. It was good.

During this moment of time, we need more than good. We need more than small talk and quick interactions. We need deep wonderings, eyes catching on another’s, and space to really share, be heard, and listen.

So I will leave you with these wonderings that have been rattling around my mind this week.

There is no more time for small talk.

I want to know where your tears come from, and where you go to pray. I want to know what brings you to your knees, and where you go to be seen. I want to know what gives you rest and ease, and how comfortable your body can become. I want to know what happens when you close your eyes, and what you can touch when you go deep inside. I want to know what your forest is like, and where you find your roots. I want to know how you return to them and how they came to be. I want to know what happens when I say, “soul” and “spirit,” and how your heart responds. I want to know how you sit with grief, and who you turn to for wisdom. I want to know what kind of ancestor you will be, and what you know of your heartbeat. I want to know what melts you, and how you fall into the arms of grace. I want to know how many times you have been afraid and wept with the sea. I want to know what color you dream in. I want to know anything, everything.

Just please, no more small talk.

Sending care (I hope you all are smiling).

Leesha