Sincerity

As a kid, I was often called gullible.

I didn't mind too much.

I took people at their word, generally believed what they said, and got into awkward conversations when I realized the other person was being sarcastic or sardonic.

Sincerity, intentionality, deliberateness—all these are a bit of a lost art.

It's bled into the movies. Hard to watch more than a few seconds of some popular flick without an audience fourth-wall quip.

We're afraid to be open, straightforward.

Using a sidestepping voice, an "I never really meant it and I'd prefer to say the opposite of what you're expecting" is safer.

There's less vulnerability, less opportunity to get ourselves hurt.

And that's a bummer.

As that kid, I learned to adapt. I got quicker at recognizing that someone was telling a joke, or their words had a double meaning, and started to assume that what was said wasn't actually the thing that was meant.

It helped. I got into fewer awkward conversations, and found ways to skim across the surface of conversations. It's not entirely unrelated to improv, where you go with whatever is said. And, well in some cases it makes you a more fun person to be around.

It's meant a lot fewer conversation stoppers, and more smooth discussions from topic to topic.

Sometimes that's fine. I don't mind it. You don't always want to have a serious, focused, intentional conversation. In fact, I think people who only focus on those type are missing out on the joys of all the other kinds of communication available.

Quippiness comes in handy, and can be a safety mechanism for navigating uncertain conversations in a lot of social settings.

But I've swung too far. I've adopted that way of speaking as a habit, and it's all too easy to turn to.

There are still situations where a conversation leaves me unsure of where the other person is trying to go. Dropping a witty remark to keep it moving is an easy way to avoid admitting confusion or uncertainty.

It's also a way to miss out on depth.

And so I'm considering the shift I took from child to adult. Where I went from taking everything at face value to assuming most things aren't as they sound. And I want to adjust, shift to the middle.

Granted, a lot of this comes from tens of thousands of interactions with others, and adjusting and learning as a result of just talking to a lot of people. Copying, so to speak, learning by trial and error.

But I want a little more than that; I want to open up myself—just a tad more—and leave the chance for sincerity to step in.

Some of the most meaningful conversations I've had with people come from times where we were both willing to be a bit vulnerable and talk about things that are less than comfortable. Note that I'm speaking generally about one-on-one. Groups in person can do this, but it's rarer.

That doesn't mean we must become a bore in conversation. On the contrary, I think we should be interested in what others have to say, curious to learn, open to change, willing to be influenced by moments of human connection.

And we can do that with humor, delight, surprise, joy. We don't have to be straight-laced unfeeling beings speaking with a Spock-like lack of emotion.

We can laugh, cry, emote, feel.

But—and this is where I want to see if I can adjust—we can hold in the moment, let the tension build, and not try to break it with a well-timed joke. Yes, there's time for that and comedy is one of the best tools at moving into the realm of the most important topics we could discuss. But that's different from holding in the moment in the tension, allowing the weight of a discussion to breathe, to be.

Part of the reason I've grown so accustomed to witty banter is because of the shield it offers, the ease with which we can use it to glide through uncertain social situations. I won't drop that entirely; there are plenty of times where it still comes in handy. But in more personal moments, hanging out with a friend or two, I want to lean into the possibility of the sincere.

It's not always the right time for that, of course. But leaving open the possibility of it gives someone else a chance to step in and open up themselves.

There's so much in the world to weigh us down, to cripple, to threaten, to collapse. More moments of humanity, reflection, connection, can help us bear the weight together.

That's my commitment, in small ways, in the moments I have, to be open, to listen, to connect; yes, with humor where I can (I'll never stop at this point, it's too ingrained), but also with a realness that has been missing.