When conversation becomes a contest...

"Did you have a good Christmas and New Year?".. I mean, that is about as soft, low risk enquiry as we could possibly be asked at this time of year. It's almost so seasonal, that we could wear it as a sign around our necks so we can avoid even saying the actual words.. It's a verbal handshake. No sharp edges. Not a trick question. At all.

"Yes, thanks..we didn't do much; long, lovely dog walks, too much to eat and some catch-ups with a few dear friends... You?".. The answer is neither rehearsed nor a practised narrative, as Vanessa and I did precisely that, and it was wonderful. And then this happens...

..."Gosh, well we hosted 164 people for Christmas Day, oh, the Oyster bill alone.. then my second husband Tony, got shipwrecked 3 times on the way back from Marks & Spencer, and Freddy, our youngest, the one who went to Oxford, not the Cambridge one, had to fight a rare type of wild leopard, that somehow got into our brand new wine cellar"...

Yes, it's a huge exaggeration, but I bet you know where I'm coming from..Competitive Conversation. And most of us particpate in it without even knowing. It is a strange phenomena that slips in very queitly, dressed as virtuous enthusiasm or innocent relatability. But is it as harmless as it would have you believe? I wonder, people...

OK.. so let's radically forgive oursleves first.. If we have done it - if we have unconsciously clambered over someone else's experience, and unwittingly stacked our story slightly higher, or made it a little more shiny - it bore no malice. OK? good.

Research indicates that we humans are wired for comparison. It seems that we are not content with exchanging information - we may be less concerned with meeting, and more dialled in to measuring. I am told that conversation is never just about shared experiences, it's about identity, belonging and safety. A sort of "Where do I sit relative to you?" "Am I doing enough? Am I sufficiently windswept and interesting? Am I succeeding?"... at least comparatively.

When someone shares an experience, especially a fairly ordinary-ish one - "This year we're doing one of those City-breaks in Zagreb", it can trigger an internal reckoning. The story and its benign content doesn't threaten us beacuse Zagreb is qualitatively better than where we're going, it threatens us because it's different.

So we end up responding not with curiousity or encouragement, but with escalation. We add mileage, a little drama and some listy productivity, and in doing so - not to purposefully diminish the other person - but to kind of reassure ourselves. "Oh, we loved Zagreb. Went there twice in '86.. on Concorde. Got upgraded and sat 6 rows behind Princess Di's ex-nanny's friend's cousin. So typical of British Airways... Anyway Zagreb is certainly not what it used to be, sadly. Hope you won't be disappointed.."

For some people, it comes so very "naturally" - ah yes, those people...

For a growing minority among us, competitive conversation often hides a kind of narcissistic fear of being seen as ordinary. Unremarkable. Of having chosen wrongly, or been left behind. For this group, the behaviour often manifests as conversational dominance - where one side constantly interrupts and tries to control the floor. Their talk becomes assertive and definitive, prioritising "winning" a passive/agressive game of whatever-it-is. Our banal experiences, seem so tip-of-the iceberg to the competitive chaterbox, that they barely seem worthy of a mention.

At this end of the behavioural spectrum, some research suggests that it may mask a few deeper, psychological needs - that include status negotiation, self-enhancement or a signal of dominance and desire for control, within what is on the surface, a very normal, social exchange. Almost a self-worth booster, but always in relation to other people. Perhaps there is also a fear around it being a kind of totally misplaced offshoot of "vulnerability" - a fear of being perceived as weak, that leads some competitive conversationalists to constantly overcompensate, by interrupting, not really listening, and generally bathing in the warm waters of over-assertive behaviour.

So let's try and look at this through a compassionate lens. It actually reveals something quite nicely "human" - we all want our lives to count and our experiences to matter. We have a deep desire for our choices to be seen as valid and interesting. Our tea pots and silver police whistle collections to be seen as important and justified. We live in a culture that wants us to equate worth, with visibility and social votes. That's not necessarily our fault. Or their fault...

But the cost of this habit - and ultimately this behaviouaral choice - is undoubtably, subtly cummulative. Conversations begin to feel hollow. Vanessa and I sometimes choose not to talk about certain things with certain people, as we just know how things will turn on the dime of oh that's quite good, but mine is better, so therefore I'm best...

So whats the cure? It may just begin with allowing someone else’s story to exist without needing to lean against it. By letting their experience stand untouched, not be surpassed. It sounds deceptively simple: "Zagreb sounds lovely. Tell me more.. what are you most excited to see?" Can you feel the empathy and compassion in that question? It's like thick, gorgeous honey..

This kind of kindness and skilled listening, asks us to trust that our worth does not disappear when we are not speaking. That another person’s experiential "fullness" does not diminish our own. That stories are not finite resources to compete over, but contributions to a shared human landscape.

Your New Years Eve does not invalidate mine, even if you did spend it fighting rare freaking leopards in your new wine cellar. My quiet Christmas does not judge your busy chaos. Your version does not threaten my long, freezing-cold dog walks, with one glove.

They can simply wander along, like Vanessa, me and Vito. Lovingly, side by side.