The Importance of Pillow Talk

Deep answers and shallow questions

I always wanted to be the kind of person who asks the right questions. Those pointed queries that cut deeper than small talk that come in card decks sold at gift shops near thick stationery. But through the loves – both platonic and romantic – of my life, I’ve found what most needs saying is said without asking anything at all.

The men in my life aren’t ones to volunteer their feelings quickly or easily. Popular culture would suggest this is toxic. I might’ve believed that once, but now I think that is a biased equivalent of the slander against small talk. In fact, I’ve found the deepest communication comes by sitting in silence, or the shallow end of chat, discussing the weather.

The weather touches us all, but because of its everyday nature, we disregard it as a surface-level discussion. I think there’s nothing more important than the everyday – and that presence it takes to notice what’s right in front of us is often harder than probing that which is within.

I’m married to an Englishman – a people stereotyped for their disinterest in personal reflection. My husband, Joe, once told me he needed to be asked “You alright?” with the right inflection (as ‘alright’ has a dozen meanings), enough times to admit he wasn’t necessarily alright. It wasn’t the question that opened him up, but the persistence – the demonstration of genuine interest.

a tight crop of Venus of Urbino by Titian (1538)

My midwestern American dad is similar. We sit on the phone for an hour, turning over the new, the mundane, or sharing silence as we both putz around our homes, until the most necessary pieces of information come before our goodbyes.

I have two little boys, and as any millennial feminist would, I’ve taught them to “feel their feelings.” But I noticed early in my eldest’s little life that he’d try to hide his true feelings no matter how many times I’d say, “It’s okay to cry.” Then he waits until the days end to bring himself out, as we lie side-by-side at bedtime.

So I’m there every night. And I’ve found, in these quiet moments, with our heads on their pillows, my eldest offers his feelings, his worries, fears, and shares the parts of himself my questions never reach.

The women I love – my best girlfriends – all volunteer themselves, too. In our time together, I rarely ask anyone anything other than “how are you.” From there, with the door open, they reveal themselves.

It wasn’t always this way. I used to ask the questions. I thought I could find depth in a card deck. I used to assume disinterest when the answers weren’t forthcoming. I wanted a shortcut. I rushed through life and love. I thought speed was a virtue – that it meant I wasn’t wasting my life. But without slowing down, I missed those everyday moments. I was living on the surface, but without being present to notice the weather.

My husband is never rushed. He never runs for a train. My girlfriends are unbearably slow. They get lost in the moment and forget the destination. From many painful pre-parties, waiting for my slow-moving companions, they challenged my dedication to the clock with their ambivalence. In loving all of these people who are so different than me, I learned to be dedicated to my heart, and to be patient with those who are near to it.

For my nearest, dearest loves, I’ll wait in silence for their feelings. And in those quiet moments, I’ve learned how to slow down for myself, too. To expect less from me, to love me as I am.

No grand philosophical question, that I’ve heard, can reach the same depth as time (or psychedelics). So, my questions are simple, but my intent isn’t surface – when we’re lying together, heads on pillows, just talking small, my people know that.

Soundtrack:

Thank you for indulging in the finest of life — love — with me.

Your time is precious, and I am touched you share it with Happy Endings.

Share your heart with someone near to it today. Or, offload here in the comments — consider it the shallow end ❤️