I am spending a rainy Monday night sitting with two strangers talking about polyamory. Or rather, one woman is telling us how the idea of polyamory intrigues her and she’s considering bringing up the subject with her partner.
It’s not often that a perfect stranger reveals a secret like this, but it is all part of an exercise in how to be social.
When I signed up for the course , part of philosopher Alain de Botton’s School Of Life, it was to improve my skills at small talk. I wanted to be able to strike up a conversation with ease and take away some of the mental load of my husband who once lovingly called me a “dead weight” when it comes to meeting new people. Even though he’s an introvert by nature, he’ll be the one making polite conversation with other parents at the playground while I look closely at my phone or helicopter around my daughter on the swing.
There’s a notion that being social comes naturally but in reality, it’s learned.
Around family and friends I’m probably as extroverted as Ellen dancing with her studio audience, but small talk with strangers goes either two ways for me: Crickets…or worse, word vomit where I end up sharing way too much information about this morning’s doctor’s appointment.
When I turned up to the Sydney premises for The School Of Life, I steeled myself. “You’re going to walk in there, go straight up to a stranger and introduce yourself,” I said as I gave myself a pep talk in the car. But what I actually did was walk straight to the book display and started to pretend to read the back of titles such as Who Am I? and On Confidence (I felt very seen).
Thankfully it's only a few minutes of awkward smiles and shuffling around before we're ushered into the classroom. Our facilitator, Sophi, is a relaxed British woman who has such an ease about her that I was certain she'd never struggled to make conversation in her life. The class of 10 is made up of three men, a mix of professionals, two baby boomer mums with adult kids and one Spanish expat who says she is looking for direction following her move to Australia. I sit next to a lawyer who is so easy to talk to, I’m not really sure why she needs to be here.
The idea is that vulnerability is what builds friendships and challenges the idea that to be interesting is to be impressive
After going around the room to introduce ourselves and say why we’re here (“I’m a journalist but I’m actually very bad at talking to new people if they’re not on Twitter”…cringe), Sophi tells us something reassuring: that there’s a notion that being social comes naturally but in reality, it’s learned. And the art of being social is a combination of looking for a connection and the psychology of persuasion and charm. Which is great in theory, but what does that mean?
Bottom line: it’s about going beyond the local identity to pursue a universal identity – a connection that can ground you with another person. Instead of asking someone a question like “what do you do for work?”, the idea is to take a social leap of faith with a deeper question like, “what’s most rewarding about your work?”, to find a connection you can hold on to.
This all seems a little intense for a conversation opener at the playground, but I’m willing to go with the flow because according to the course, these deeper questions lead to a more rewarding conversation.
Throughout the night we move into groups and practice taking social leaps of faith, asking each other questions like “what do you regret?” or “which family members do you have tension with?” The questions are blunt like a sledge hammer but it’s an exercise in taking the conversation from a surface conversation to what’s called a deep-self conversation. The idea is that vulnerability is what builds friendships and challenges the idea that to be interesting is to be impressive.
“There are moments when the revelation of weakness, far from being a catastrophe, is the only possible route to connection and respect,” de Botton writes in his course notes. “Rather than appalling our companions, these revelations may serve to endear them to us, humanising us in their eyes, and letting them feel that their own vulnerabilities have echoes in the lives of others.”
It’s our failure that charms people not our perfections.
Surprisingly, despite asking questions that would usually be deemed impolite, my classmates were willing to open up and the conversation flowed. While one revealed her interest in polyamory, another told me the story of being arrested at 16. And as I sat there telling a fellow classmate about my personal family history, I realised it was time to not worry about over-sharing and just let the conversation fly.
In reality, I’m probably not going to strike up a conversation at the playground with a question like, “what’s your deepest regret?” but I have been trying to pull my weight when it comes to making conversation and not leaving the burden to my husband. Just this week I struck up a conversation with another mum, and it turns out our toddlers go to the same daycare. We had an honest discussion about how our kids were settling in and the work-life juggle, and it felt nice to make a connection. I’ve learnt that avoiding awkward small talk doesn’t have to mean not talking at all.
A deeper conversation is what’s going to make a connection, and if that means a little bit too much information, go for it.
How to have deeper conversations:
1. Edit while you listen. Being an active listener means being a good editor, and being responsible for changes in the conversation. "They will, in the kindest way possible, ask the speaker to unpack their feelings more intensely and elaborate upon emotions with a sense that these will prove hugely interesting rather than boring or alarming," writes de Botton. "When the speaker gets tongue-tied from fear, the good editor-listener is on hand we reassurance and encouragement."
2. Be polite and be flattering. Both are key to building rapport with someone. It's not about manipulating the other person, but awakening something in them. According to Sophi, "good flattering is good noticing."
3. Be vulnerable. "Good vulnerability doesn't expect another person to solve our difficulties; we let them see a tricky part of who we are, simply in the hope that they will be emboldened to feel more at ease with their own, less dignified sides," de Botton says. "Good vulnerability is ultimately generous...It is a gift in the form of a risk taken for someone else."
