It seems to me that conversation is a dying art. No longer do people ponder their thoughts before breathing life into them. No longer do people deliberate the most appropriate word for a phenomenon, because there is always a more interesting word, but they forsake these possibilities and leave us unsatisfied with fillers like “things” and “stuff” and “very”. They are no longer specific in meaning and purpose, and often words are thrown up merely for the sake of noise.

In certain groups, I find I have to speak quickly when trying to express one cohesive idea, because if I leave any sort of gap in my flow of thoughts, it will be filled immediately by random, meaningless fluff. No time left for thinking, introspection, reflection, and absorption. No time for real conversation and the communication of ideas, of respect, of beliefs and theories of the universe. Because there’s simply not time for it in the rapid buzz of “conversation” today.

But these are the only conversations that I feel are real. I come alive when I can feel that active give and take, the actions and reactions to each new idea uttered, the unending improvised dance of exchanged experiences that makes us grow in thought and in mind. When someone considers what I have to say, then considers and sifts through their own jumble of thoughts, then bothers to construct a mindful, relevant and inspiring, intriguing response that will nudge my thoughts to a new place, that’s what I call conversation.

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