A reflection on the lost art of conversation – and how to get it back

We find ourselves living in a world where a growing number of people now use their thumbs to do a lot of the talking. Text messages and status updates zip by at lightning speed, leaving people scrolling, swiping, and liking rather than speaking, listening, and reflecting. Digital platforms reward brevity, encourage quick reactions, and often starve conversations of any depth. As a result, attention spans shrink while meaningful, face-to-face exchanges become increasingly rare.

You can see it happening all around you. People with their heads in digital devices rather than having face-to-face conversations.

(The fact that most of you are reading this feature in the print version of the Advocate is a good thing.)

Before phones and iPads, television captured our attention. We gathered around big screens instead of engaging in conversation.

The term “Crackberry” is generally believed to have emerged in the mid-2000s. And for good reason. As Canada’s BlackBerry smartphones became indispensable, especially in the corporate world, people began noticing how addictive these devices could be — so much so that users would constantly check their email and messages.

They had no idea what was coming around the bend.

Then, in 2007, the iPhone arrived. Many worried these handheld, internet-connected devices would harm society. They blamed technology — but technology doesn’t feel or care. It just is, quietly creeping into our lives. Ironically, many of those same skeptics now carry smartphones themselves. As the Borg said in Star Trek: The Next Generation, “Resistance is futile.”

Only one in five Canadians talk to strangers. They are three times happier than those who don’t, according to researchers at Simon Fraser University.

People have conversations for all sorts of reasons — to connect, share ideas, express emotions, entertain, persuade, learn, or build and maintain relationships. We also have conversations internally with ourselves, shaping how we communicate with others.

In my world, there’s something I call “the conductor”—others might call it the “I”. It’s that internal, reflective self, your consciousness. It’s the observer within, home to your intuition and self-awareness—the quiet voice watching, thinking, and feeling inside.

Then there’s the “me”— your external self, the part that interacts with the world and other people. It’s the personality you project outwardly, the version of you that your “I” observes.

 

This internal dialogue shapes how you communicate, react, and connect. When the “I” and “me” align, people seem more genuine, authentic — their eyes brighten, and they feel truly alive.

We also create extensions of ourselves — computers for brains, tools for hands, vehicles for legs. Soon enough, entire industries spring up around them. Companies hire marketers to convince us we absolutely need the newest, shiniest thing, giving these products near-magical powers. For some these external possessions become a big part of who people are. Some even judge others by the external things they own, creating separation.

We haven’t had cable TV for more than 25 years, but during COVID, we started watching shows — with commercials. That’s when it hit me: everything is a story. What our parents taught us, what schools taught us, what media bombards us with — all stories. But are these stories true or even healthy? Who says “keeping up with the Joneses” is a life worth chasing? What if the Joneses aren’t great role models?

And what if the stories fed to us in a consumer-driven, capitalist system don’t make us happier? Maybe the Dalai Lama has a point when he says materialistic Western cultures simply aren’t as fulfilled as those less focused on possessions.

Social media accelerated the erosion of politeness and civility when platforms discovered anger and outrage drive engagement. More engagement meant more targeted ads. Who needs TV or newspapers showing war and crime to keep viewers glued, when you can tweak algorithms and get users arguing online?

Then, as if things weren’t already complicated enough, along came a pandemic. Adults joined the tech-savvy youth, spending three years glued to screens. Our online experiences became hyper-personalized, making it harder to see our common ground. Suddenly, we became our own authorities. The internet’s promise of empowering individuals was fulfilled. YouTube “influencers” became the new rock stars.

The very idea of civil discourse took a beating. Even politicians and their strategists started using anger. The intensity with which people with different viewpoints have wanted their voices to be heard grew, excluding the viewpoints of others.

When people emerged from the pandemic, they weren’t used to dealing with spitting-mad human beings in the flesh.

Some people loved working from home so much they stuck with it, further reducing face-to-face interactions. Pulling back from in-person connections started to feel normal.

Then there’s the disappearing and all-important “third place”—spots that aren’t home or work, where people of diverse backgrounds and interests come together. Think Cheers, the neighbourhood bar from TV. Community groups like Rotary, Kinsmen, and Lions clubs are seeing memberships dwindle. Church attendance is dropping too. So, where can we practice conversations beyond our immediate circles or tribes? The loss of these third places is becoming a real concern.

We live in extraordinary times. Never before have we had access to so much information, so many voices, and countless platforms for self-expression. Technology connects us across continents, lets us instantly share moments with loved ones, and collaborate from anywhere. Digital communication has enriched our lives. It’s fast, convenient, and incredibly efficient.

Yet paradoxically, research shows that loneliness has been on the rise in Canada over the past decade.

• Studies show roughly half of Canadians experience loneliness at least sometimes.
• Half of all seniors and 75 per cent of people with mental-health issues claim to suffer from crippling solitude.
• More than 100 studies have established that loneliness can shorten a human lifespan.

Wherever there’s a void, humans naturally find solutions. Artificial intelligence and large language models have evolved rapidly. Now AI platforms like ChatGPT offer real voice conversations. Imagine chatting in-depth about any topic with the smartest person (okay, computer) in the world. It’s quite the experience.

But there’s another side to this digital revolution we shouldn’t ignore – how it’s subtly changing our habits, and the quality of our conversations. We’re losing some of the richness and nuance of real human expression. When we text or tweet, we compress thoughts into tiny fragments, relying on emojis, abbreviations, and memes to convey emotions. Sure, they’re creative, but they’re no substitute for vocal inflection, facial expressions, or the warmth of someone’s presence.

Moreover, our attention spans are being impacted. In the digital realm, information comes at us quickly and in small bursts. Conversations, on the other hand, require patience and focus. They unfold over time, allowing space for thought, reflection, and a give-and-take that can’t be replicated by rapid-fire interactions online. As we become accustomed to shorter and more fragmented forms of communication, we find it harder to sit down and truly engage with someone in a conversation that requires more than a few seconds of attention.

There’s also the gradual erosion of empathy. Online, we see only words on a screen, not the faces, voices, and gestures of real people. It’s easier to misunderstand or dismiss someone when they’re reduced to text. In face-to-face conversations, subtle cues like tone, pauses, and body language help us connect and empathize. Without these cues, we risk becoming isolated, rigid in our perspectives, and less able to truly understand each other.

This is not to say that digital communication is inherently bad. It’s a tool, and like all tools, it’s about how we use them. The problem arises when we forget that there’s another dimension to human connection that can’t be captured through screens.

If we accept that our in-person conversations have declined in quality and frequency, our next step is clear: we need to actively seek out others to have face-to-face conversations with. By practicing listening, asking open-ended questions, showing empathy, and tuning into non-verbal cues, we rebuild the foundations of genuine dialogue.

And remember storytelling. It’s one of humanity’s oldest and most powerful conversational tools. Long before we had the internet or even the written word, we gathered around fires and told stories. Stories help us share experiences, values, and lessons learned. They provide context and colour, making abstract ideas more relatable and memorable.

When you share a personal story, perhaps about a challenging time in your life, a funny misunderstanding, or a meaningful turning point, you invite others to see the world through your eyes. In return, when someone tells you their story, you learn more about who they are, what matters to them, and how they’ve come to hold their beliefs. Stories humanize us and make it easier to appreciate one another’s uniqueness.

In the digital age, the art of conversation seems to be fading. But it doesn’t need to be this way.

We should develop more ‘third’ places and opportunities for our community members to engage outside of homes, workplaces, and digital environments. This includes more cafés, bars, and regular events. Municipalities can contribute significantly by creating shared civic spaces such as parks and community centres, ensuring they are welcoming, well-designed, and properly maintained. These spaces encourage natural conversations between friends and strangers. Without these neutral environments, in-person interactions may decrease, leading to increased reliance on digital communication.

When we have deep conversations, we’re not just exchanging information; we’re sharing parts of ourselves. Approaching a conversation with curiosity and kindness allows you to put yourself in another person’s shoes.

Because the ultimate goal of conversation isn’t just to exchange information — it’s to connect more deeply, to foster understanding, and to create a richer sense of community with the people around us.

I don’t think we’ve lost the art of conversation. But if we’re not careful, the conversations we will increasingly prefer may not be with other human beings, they’ll be with computers. And then we’ll all be lost.

 – Richard Gauder is the co-founder of CMS Web Solutions, a Canadian web development, hosting and education company, now specializing in digital accessibility. He is a business and community entrepreneur having co-founded five 100 Men groups including 100 Men Kawartha Lakes. In May 2019, he and his wife started planting trees and accidentally started another organization, now called Plant Kawartha.