I used to watch couples at restaurants and feel sorry for them. The waiter would bring the salad, the meal and the dessert and barely a word’ve been exchanged between the pair.
I wondered, “Did they just run out of things to talk about?”
I’ve never been good at small talk. I honestly think that is one reason I drank too much. I just can’t find it in my being to care about celebrity news, the latest gadgets, fashion trends or sports scores.
I’m not downing those who do. The world needs all of us! My father was genius at it!
But me? I would rather know what fears haunt you while you are awake, the last time you cried or laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. Or about the time you hit rock bottom and managed by the Grace of something greater than yourself to rise up from those ashes of despair.
I would rather sit in silence by the ocean, or take in the fullness of the key lime pie I ordered, feel the sun bring the sweat to my skin and marvel with words…what a miracle it all is.
I’m not good at small talk…for long anyway.
So let’s you and I sit at this table together and speak of nothing and know that we are not bored or sad or lonely…we are just deep.