…Don’t Say It! Restrain Yourself, Please!

Everyone has a different event they’d like to personally witness if they could use the Wayback Machine. Some would be a fly on the wall to watch Tonya Harding’s expression when her boyfriend explained his whack job idea to eliminate ice skating competition (“OMG!!! Jeff–I TOTALLY LOVE YOU!” ) or to see when John first met Yoko (“You’re a groovy chick, baby.” “So are you!”) or to see how Kennedy briefed his staff on how to get Marilyn into the White House. (Note: you must read this with a Kennedy accent–“I call this Operation Secret Service.”) But personally, what I’d love to see is the day we humans invented language, and I know there are fifty-six graduate students in paleolinguistics who would give their eye teeth to do the same.

Ever since that day of linguistic awakening, either glorious or infamous, depending on your take, our species has not shut up for one second. Oh, we can talk? Really? We can talk now? Then let’s talk! Talk talk talk! All the live long day! 

Language is immensely useful for a number of purposes, one of which is to form bonds with other humans. Friends share their lives either through experiences or recounting through language what’s going on. That’s fine. With friends, one has love, affection and tolerance. We say what we say and it’s all good. But with outsiders, if you’re going to recount an experience, it had better be interesting, relevant to me, or funny. And I pretty much can guarantee you will fail in all three areas.

What is this compulsion people have to yammer on about the minutia of their experiences?

I’ve noticed this especially among older folk: “I had just pulled out of the driveway when I saw Joan walking down the sidewalk. I hadn’t seen her, oh, in maybe three or four days, not since the cookie bake on Sunday, at least, though I think I did see her on Monday coming out of the drugstore. So I pulled up and we chatted a bit and she said, ‘I was just at the store, and I forgot to buy napkins!’ And I said, “Well, I’m going to the hair salon,” which I do the first Tuesday of the month, except last month when I had to go on Wednesday because my grandson and his girlfriend were in town and wanted to stop by before they had to go back to Illinois for her job with the State Auditor, so I said, “Why don’t I stop by Safeway to get some napkins for you?” And she said, “Oh, no–that’s fine–I’ll have to go back this afternoon anyway to pick up John’s prescription–it won’t be ready until three.” And I said, “Oh, I don’t mind at all! I need to pick up some butter anyway. I’m going to make some ginger snaps for my granddaughter.” Well then she said, “I do have a friend coming over for lunch and I need to get started on the salad.” And then I said, “Well that settles it! I’ll go to store after the hair salon and pick up some napkins and butter. And not another word!” So I went to Safeway and got my butter and went over to the napkins–they’ve been moved to a new aisle, I found that out recently, and I stood there and just had to chuckle: I didn’t know what color of napkins she wanted!”

Notice, please, the rich, useless detail. Also notice the completely lame punch line: “I didn’t know what color of napkins she wanted!” As an anecdote it’s a failure.

But it’s not just old people–people of all ages indulge in this verbal diarrhea. My wife considers it a form of abuse. If she and I weren’t such nice people, we would abruptly cut that line of chit-chat by telling them to can it, or some other such impoliteness. But we are nice people, and when we find ourselves in this situation, we typically let the other person blabber on about whatever.

Personally, I’m not so sure it’s a form of abuse overall. I think that we have trained ourselves through the many long generations since we invented language to feel a compulsion to use this tool nonstop. Language allows us to free ourselves from many of the bonds that govern the rest of the animal world, but there is a heavy price to pay for this–language is both our slave and master, and it’s set itself up as the only game in town. Wittgenstein said: “The limits of my language are the limits of my world.” There you go. That isn’t Wittgenstein speaking, though–that’s actually the primal language instinct desperate for its host to think that it’s top dog. And to make sure we never forget who’s boss upstairs in our brain, we are compelled to use language as much as we can. Talk talk talk. And since thinking that is original, engaging, interesting, or humorous is hard to come by, we fill the time, the air and our lives by simply recounting in excruciating detail past conversations, interactions and our doings, no matter how run-of-the-mill. If our mouth gets tired of that, we can switch to endless speculative talk what others have done recently or might do in the near future. That’s another age-old linguistic time filler/killer.

Here’s a thought: don’t. Try not thinking, at least in the verbal sense, which is how we typically think of thinking. That’s the language beast at work again, and this is largely the basis for our school system: thinking = language. Try turning off the verbal thinking. Hard to do, at first. But worth the effort. When you’re with somebody, devote one second before you speak to monitor what you’re about to say. I’m all for losing inhibitions when it serves a greater personal freedom of expression, but this is not the monitoring I mean. Are you going to speak just to fill airwaves? Does it really need to be said? Is a moment of silence actually called for? Would it kill you to just be quiet for a second? Maybe it would–many people choose to plow on with the language production come what may.

You three people who read this post may well consider this harsh and possibly misanthropic. Muir must hate people! He hates to talk! Not so. Often I am indeed quiet in the presence of others because…there is nothing I wish to say. I consider it a public service, and you may thank me. I think some people consider me a little quirky in this way, or unpredictable (“Sometimes he doesn’t talk–what’s wrong with him?!) But I do enjoy conversation, especially conversation that is even just half-way engaged with intent and consciousness. And if you must spend five minutes recounting how your cat slept yesterday, I will listen politely, I swear, and respond appropriately. “Wow, that’s interesting. Your cat had a quite a nap. That’s for sure!” If you know me,  tell me anything you like–we’re friends! And if you don’t know me, surprise me with something unexpected–that will get my attention, though I will also be delighted to spend a moment of crisp silence with you as well.