Every Conversation is a Backrub and/or a Helicopter in a Puddle

To converse with yourself is to give yourself a lousy backrub. You need people.

And they need you. Other people exist; they want to feel valuable too.

Quality conversations are great gifts. But conversing is expensive -- you must pay attention, but attention is your only scarce resource. Attention is all you need, and it's all you have. You are what you attend to.

But your attention runs wild. It acts without permission. Your hopes/fears rule your life. You expect too much; you assume even more. Again and again, your attention folds itself into a helicopter hairball of faulty memories, of blind beliefs, of opiate fantasies.

You probably can't ever fully unfurl. All your best attempts to detangle yourself add more knots. Sometimes you give up and turn into a puddle of goo. It feels nice to be a puddle on occasion.

Every good conversation can start precisely wherever you are: life is good. Yes, life is good. Admit it, and be grateful. Or curious.

That's a human. Weird. Are they alive? What are they feeling? What led them here? Why are they folding into a hairball? Why are they so afraid of living?

What do they really want? What is stopping them? What support do they need?

Reflect their ideas. Find their helicopter in the surface of your puddle, and capture it with your words. "It sounds like you resent your parents for sending you to clown school." No prescriptions, no advice, no opinions -- no, no, you're not listening.

Now it's your turn. Valuable attention is being paid to you. If a friend watches your helicopter through their puddle, make it worth their while. Do a spectacular aerial maneuver. Or maybe share something deep and personal. Sharing yourself is more difficult than it seems -- the most painful knots in your hairball are so embarrassing, so terrifying, so overwhelming. But that's the point. Accept the backrub, you fool.