Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

You know that thing that happens at parties, in elevators, or when you run into an old acquaintance in the grocery store checkout line? That thing where you’re suddenly trapped in a polite exchange about nothing in particular? Yeah, that’s small talk. And if you’ve ever found yourself stuck in it, you know—it’s not exactly painful in any dramatic way, but more like a slow, quiet kind of suffering. Like a paper cut that doesn’t quite stop stinging.

The thing about small talk is that it’s not really about saying anything meaningful. It’s just there to keep social interactions running smoothly, to create the illusion of connection without any actual depth. That’s why people ask, “How’s it going?” when they don’t really want an answer. And why we all automatically respond, “Good! You?” whether or not we’re actually good. It’s a kind of unspoken performance, a way of filling the air with words that don’t ask too much of anyone.

And to be fair, small talk has a purpose. It’s like giving a little nod when someone holds the door for you—it reassures both people that we’re following the same social script. The real problem—the thing that makes small talk feel so quietly unbearable—is knowing that, underneath it, there’s so much more we could be saying.

Like, what if instead of, “Nice weather today,” we could just say, “Hey, do you ever feel like you’re sleepwalking through your own life?” What if, instead of chatting about weekend plans, we could ask, “Do you ever get scared that nothing you do actually matters?” But of course, we don’t. We stick to the script. We keep it light. We avoid going too deep.

And maybe that’s the saddest part of all—that we’re constantly surrounded by people who have entire worlds inside them, and all we ever talk about is the weather.