Inside the Ordinary

I’ve always felt pressure to make interesting conversations, and it’s cropped up more since I retired. Without my trusty work adventures to talk about, it sometimes takes more effort than I’d like to avoid the dull “Nothing much” when asked a friendly, “What’s new?” I’m doing things that interest me, but are they noteworthy enough? After all, retirement is supposed to be about living our best lives as we master skydiving and several new languages, all while building the ultimate dream house in an exotic location — with vineyard.

Hyperbole aside, we all want to talk about ourselves naturally. But let’s face it — nobody wants to hear you prattle on about finding your inner bliss over the sunlit glow of your morning coffee cup or how many times you emptied the dishwasher. Succinctness and a touch of wit are key.

So, how can my report of the startling antics of a never-before-seen-in-this-neighborhood nosey bear, captured in an electrifying 60-second video on my neighbor’s Ring Doorbell camera, stand up to my friends’ spectacular adventures as they RV from Maine to Yukon Territory, learning new vocabulary basics like “sticks-and-bricks” living and “boondocking,” all while witnessing the country’s extraordinary natural wonders?

The answer: it’s in the ordinary stuff where a story unfolds if you give it a chance. That’s what a friend taught me over two decades ago, and I’ve followed her wisdom ever since.

It’s been too long to remember precise details, but during one of our regular lunch-hour chats, my friend Betsy changed my notion of the “nothing much” weekend, a place we’d been stuck in for a while. On that sunny day, as we sat in our usual spot at the marina near our office building, Betsy mentioned that she’d overheard some of our co-workers discussing their weekend activities and how they chatted so readily about what we would have ruled out.

The conversation wasn’t unusual by weekend activity standards, starting with someone seeing a movie and then probably leading to more movie talk. Discussion about dinner out, food favorites, and maybe even a review of a new restaurant followed if I recall correctly, finally finishing with a debate about the state of the economy and predictions about company raises. While the precise details may not be crystal clear, I vividly recall that nothing earth-shattering was needed for the back-and-forth to be an inviting lesson to Betsy about how sharing a little can lead to sharing a lot more.

I never appreciated that my less-than-exciting activities might contribute something worthwhile to our discussions. So, we made a deal to talk about how we spent our weekend time, no matter how ordinary reading a good nutrition article in the weekend paper or watching a few glittery Sex and the City episodes might appear to the big-fat-exciting world. And our conversations and personalities flowed. Listening to Betsy’s favorite band, reading our favorite poems, discussing the real estate market and our jobs, and even shopping for just the right shoes transformed into a deep rapport. Along the way, I also understood more about myself by revealing bits of who I am without my nagging awkwardness holding me back.

Over the years, I’ve stuck with my insight and put it to good use recently at a retirement workshop where we were asked to introduce ourselves based on our strengths and values rather than relying on a role or job title.

Oh boy…. I had no idea how to do this well. Assessing my strengths has been difficult for me, especially since retiring. In fact, it was the reason I was attending the seminar — to think about myself in new ways. But then it came to me: apply the Betsy Principle. I’d be straightforward and not overthink or underthink this. The answer then came quickly, and the group learned about plain ‘ole me, the determined optimist always searching for the next thing to try. They even smiled. I also came to know them more than I did five minutes ago, and our conversations continued with a new lightness and momentum.

Japanese poet Kobayashi Issa captured the commonplace to perfection:

The man pulling radishes
pointed my way
with a radish.
        (translated by Robert Haas)

I’m convinced there’s an interesting story waiting inside the understated activities of everyday life that matter to you. But it takes giving the ordinary its due to discover it.

As for my bear sighting, no, it wasn’t a grizzly (though I’ve seen The Revenant) and was just passing through.

But it was really something!

Photo by Keegan Houser / Unsplash