Our language is a sonofabitch sometimes. It doesn’t always play well with others. It argues that you can do just fine with a workmanlike grasp and a little attitude, and then smothers you in misunderstanding and incorrect definition, nuance and new usage. And context. And volume. Anger, frustration, and distrust.

Lately, I’ve been talking a lot with my daughters. They are both out of school now, grown up, busy. and full of new knowledge that I want to know, too. (Try saying that five times, fast . . . .) I call them and ask a lot of questions. Dumb ones, too, I’m sure. Things I’m not up-to-speed about. How to get followers on social media. How to do a clip mask in Photoshop. What does this acronym mean, and when do I use it? (Oh, never?)

If I was my younger self, I would be troubled by this role-reversal, but I pretty much saw it coming. There was a time not so long ago when I pedaled faster, in an effort to keep up with the current. Lately, however, I’m reading old books I should already have read, and my music playlist is antiquated. Yes, those are both true and metaphors, simultaneously. The girls understand, and don’t seem to mind. They haven’t yet put me out to pasture.

In fact, the best part is that they still call. I’m not quite unnecessary but can be a quick reference for certain things (when to use sun-dried tomatoes), or someone they know they can unload on with no repercussions, particularly with regard to recent events. In the latter, however, despite promising to always answer honestly, I try to avoid the questions I personally don’t enjoy answering. Those things I call “Why?” questions. Because why is frequently, not always, an opinion. I want to stay in my wheelhouse, but why makes that difficult.

But one cannot always avoid trouble. I rely on my language skills. My vocabulary, if you will. I may say to them, “I think the question may be the wrong question. Do you mean . . . .” Or, perhaps, “Ask me that a different way. I want to know exactly what you’re implying.” And we go on. Sometimes we don’t get to the point. Sometimes I apologize. (Sometimes this is later.)

I don’t do this sort of arguing thing with many people. Why? (See what I mean?) Because I’m not inclined to do so. I could explain why (aargh!) I’m not, but I won’t.

Am I getting lazy? Possibly. (Probably!) Also, I just don’t know why so, so many things happen or are said or thought. I’m not that clever. I always assume the best answer to such questions is “just because . . . .” Or “I dunno . . . .” Rather like I’m either a tired parent or a teenage boy living in the 1970s.

Both of which I claim some experience in having been.

Personally, I think we’re all lazy. Not necessarily with intent, but lazy nonetheless. There was a great interest a few years back in a form of what I call human cataloging, in which persons responded to a series of questions and after their answers were analyzed, were assigned four emotional and intellectual quadrants of traits that were theirs, based on that analysis. They were told by licensed leaders and educators that they had qualities that matched with others, that blended well, or possibly conflicted with. The whole process, rather than being even remotely scientific or credentialed, turned out to be something designed as a parlor game by a couple of women back in the 1930s. Still, corporate organizations took it very seriously for a while, and it was at least fun. Fun to take a look at yourself through a new lens. Fun to belong to something as simple as a personality fraternity. Fun like . . . astrology?

And, in the end, this team-building exercise went the way of the dodo. But there was one piece of information that stuck with me anyway. The leader always concluded the personality analysis with the comment that our quadrants are not who we are, but the rut that we tend toward. In short, we are often lazy not just because it’s easier, but because it is difficult to overcome the inertia, to pull out of a tailspin, to steer a less traveled path.

And I don’t want to cast aspersions, but there’s been a lot of this going around for a while. Instead of legitimate debate, chanting in a crowd something short and easy, something that rhymes. That’s not poetry. Listening to the so-called talking-heads feed us a line and nodding our heads. It’s not expertise, credentialed and fact-checked. And so it is with conversation. We have our vocabulary, and imagine it does us well enough. Until it doesn’t. Until the anger and frustration kick in. Pick a side. Shut up. Bullshit. Digging the ruts ever deeper. Imagining we did all we can do? What alternatives are there — everything is shrinking (down to seconds and characters and pixels, etc.) and the quality of human interaction is deteriorating to a point of no return.

I much prefer having the conversation, the argument, where we take the time necessary to parse the situation and find a way to make our considerations heard. This is good, and that is bad. How do I know? Because I read it in this book or that paper or watched video in which so-and-so stated it. What do you think, and why? I fear that this last-best ship may already have sailed.

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