Alcohol and Awe

“I think people need to get out and drink more.”

That’s from Scott Galloway, author, speaker, and NYU professor during a recent podcast with Steven Bartlett on Diary of a CEO.

The two are in the midst of a conversation addressing the loneliness epidemic—the scientifically studied and documented mass public health crisis caused by chronic social isolation and a lack of meaningful interpersonal interactions. Here, Galloway is offering an insight into one of the many possible causes of this multifaceted, widespread crisis: people aren’t drinking as much.

From Galloway’s perspective, alcohol acts as a neutralizer, providing safer entryways into interpersonal connection. It goes without saying that moderation is a must, but the proposition is that alcohol acts as an effective lubricant, allowing people to interact with each other more freely and uninhibited, if slightly inebriated.

While I do agree with the fundamental principle this is addressing (the need for social environments that facilitate and encourage meaningful connection), it fails when the substance of the conversation is meaningless.

Yes, there is value in “shooting the shit,” but those are the chips and salsa of the world of conversation. To have well-balanced lives, humans need all sorts of conversations, and all levels of meaningful interactions.

Conversation has shaped the course of evolution since the dawn of our species. The Bushmen of the Kalahari desert in South Africa are among the oldest indigenous cultures on Earth, and it is believed that they embody a living model of how our early human ancestors lived and formed their societies and relationships.

The Bushmen, more specifically the Ju/’hoansi, live in small, tight-knit communities as hunter-gatherers. During the day, the majority of their conversations are around the pragmatic: economic matters, foraging, complaints, and even gossip. This gossip, in fact, helps keep the town in check, managing conflicts and keeping the ego reigned in.

During the evening, however, campfires are lit and the conversations transform into storytelling, the myths and tales of the spiritual world, and exploring the imagination.

It is in these safe, intimate spaces that we, like the Ju/’hoansi, developed our empathy, shared knowledge, and deepened our sense of community. It was as we gathered around a campfire, literally, to sing and dance that we formed this deep need for connection that it became codified in our DNA.

And today, many of us get almost none of this experience in our solitary, duty-filled adult lives.

I believe that wrapped up with the loss of imaginative conversation is also our loss of the art of conversation itself. Countless books have been written on this elusive subject, and it seems that most of us have forgotten how to simply hold a conversation. While we are combatting the rapidly shifting modalities of conversation, as we become increasingly dependent on technology as a connector, we are also simultaneously neglecting to practice the skill.

Just the other day, as I was checking out at a Publix that does not have self-checkout, I felt a twinge of dread at the thought of having a conversation with the cashier.

How absurd!

Grace, the cashier, hadn’t done anything to spur such trepidation, and it made no sense to hope to avoid a brief exchange.

Of course, I smiled at Grace, made eye contact, and had a perfectly pleasant morning chat. But this quick check reminded me of a fear I think too many of us unwittingly succumb to.

In my defense, I hadn’t had any coffee, and I was there to buy coffee.

Maybe we can be forgiven for careful avoidance of idle prattle at the gym and the grocery store, but what about the loss of our deeper conversations? The ones that make us feel seen, and remind us that we are all sharing the same human experience? The imaginative kind that tap into and expand our distinctly human sense of wonder?

The more I envelop myself in the art of music, the more it reveals about the universal threads that tie us together. It does so, in part, by uniting groups of people in an outwardly shared experience; we all become individually responsible to the music we collectively make.

This is true of our communities as well, from our families to our circle of friends and beyond. We are all engaged in a kind of universal song, where all of us have our own part to play. We can only play that part when we learn to become in tune with ourselves and others.

Music is just like a conversation. It’s actually many conversations happening at one time that have to overlap in a cohesive way. The defining characteristic of great musicians is the same for great conversationalists: the ability to listen.

When we listen, we strip off the filters, judgements, and desires of our own selfness. Yet, unfortunately for the person sitting across from us in a conversation, we hear a few words before we start thinking about what we want to say next, stripping the other person of their ability to tell us something.

Listening is an act of service to others, allowing us to hear the undercurrents without being convoluted by our own personalities.

So the next time you’re out with your friends having a beer, or sitting on the couch with someone you love, see if you can make the conversation more meaningful and a little more imaginative.

Share your awes and wonders, not just your gripes and complaints. When was the last time you thought about your dreams and curiosities, let alone shared them with someone else?

There’s plenty to talk about.

Until next time, live uninterrupted.

~Coleman