Everything was going great until you showed up. You see me across the crowded room, make your way over, and start talking at me. And you don’t stop. You are a Democrat, an outspoken atheist, and a foodie. You like to say ‘Science’ in a weird, self-congratulatory way. You wear jeans during the day, and fancy jeans at night. You listen to music featuring wispy lady vocals and electronic bloop-bloops. You really like coffee, except for Starbucks, which is the worst. No wait, Coke is the worst. Unless it’s Mexican Coke, in which case it’s the best. Pixar. Kitty cats. Uniqlo. Bourbon. Steel-cut oats. Comic books. Obama. Fancy burgers.
You listen to the same five podcasts and read the same seven blogs as all your pals. You stay up late on Twitter making hashtagged jokes about the event that everyone has decided will be the event about which everyone jokes today. You love to send withering messages to people like Rush Limbaugh of course, those notes are not meant for their ostensible recipients, but for your friends, who will chuckle and retweet your savage wit.
You are boring. So, so boring.
Don’t take it too hard. We’re all boring. At best, we’re recovering bores. Each day offers a hundred ways for us to bore the crap out of the folks with whom we live, work, and drink. And on the Internet, you’re able to bore thousands of people at once.
A few years ago, I had a job that involved listening to a ton of podcasts. It’s possible that I’ve heard more podcasts than anyone else. I listened to at least a little bit of tens of thousands of shows. Of course, the vast majority were so bad I’d often wish microphones could be sold only to licensed users. But I did learn how to tell very quickly whether someone was interesting or not.
The people who were interesting told good stories. They were also inquisitive, and willing to work to expand their social and intellectual range. Most importantly, interesting people were also the best listeners. They knew when to ask questions. This was the set of people whose shows I would subscribe to, whose writing I would seek out, and whose friendship I would crave. In other words, those people were the opposite of boring.
They check their egos at the door. An egomaniac is never interesting. Egomaniacs are always posturing, always worrying about how they’ll come across. It’s exhausting, and it’s also dishonest. In a speech to the Stanford University graduating class of 2008, Oprah Winfrey said, ‘The trick is to learn to check your ego at the door and start checking your gut instead. Every right decision I’ve made, every right decision I’ve ever made, has come from my gut. And every wrong decision I’ve ever made was a result of me not listening to the greater voice of myself.’ Oprah’s advice is so important – Listen to your values, goals, and ambitions, rather than worrying about what will make you look good. Here are the three things they taught me.
Firstly, listen, then ask a question. There’s no better way to be seen as a blowhard than to constantly blow, hard. Instead, give a conversation some air. Really listen. Ask questions – the person you’re speaking with will respect your inquisitiveness and become more interested in the exchange. ‘Asking questions makes people feel valued,’ said former Virgin America VP Porter Gale, ‘and they transfer that value over to liking you more.’
Secondly, tell a story. When people tell stories, they think about how to communicate the entirety of their experience to someone else. They set the stage, introduce characters, and give us a reason to care. Of course, that’s hard to do in a single photo, but if you think in terms of story, could you find a better way to communicate your experience? How about a picture of the menu, or of your smiling dinner companions? Anything’s better than the greasy puddles you have decided any human with access to the Internet should be able to see.
And finally, expand your circles. As you widen your social circle, work on your intellectual one as well. Expose yourself to new writers. Hit the Random Article button on Wikipedia. Investigate the trite platitudes, or bromides, your friends chuck around Twitter like frisbees.
When you expand your social and intellectual range, you become more interesting. You’re able to make connections that others don’t see. You’re like a hunter, bringing a fresh supply of ideas and stories back to share with your friends.
The Big Bore lurks inside us all. It’s dying to be set loose to lecture on Quentin Tarantino or what makes good ice cream. Fight the urge to speak without listening, to tell a bad story, to stay inside your comfortable nest of back-patting pals. As you move away from boring, you will never be bored.