How often have you been on the cusp of a long friendship that begins to disintegrate?
The analogy is that bridge you cross on the way to work.
You notice the rust and ignore it until a cable snaps. It seems more unstable than the day before. That is the moment when you either decide to take a different route or weigh the risk of crossing against the discomfort of seeking that alternative route.
The pivotal phrase before the friendship collapsed was, “You are belaboring the topic.” It was true. I kept going back to some points repeatedly.
But why?
In retrospect, I realised that many of our conversations had stopped producing new meaning.

In a restaurant, you would view it as finishing a meal and wishing there was either a slightly bigger portion, more flavour, or greater diversity.
But you sit, pay the bill, and even go back. “It’s a nice spot. Who knows, things might have changed.”

A principle of this site is not to simply talk more.
Volume and filler are fine for politicians who wish to confuse the press corps.

One phrase I train myself to observe each day: “I would like to chat about the previous section some more.”
If that becomes the core component of most chats, is meaning transferred at all?

One antidote I can try is to ask my question and serve my statement. If the response is unsatisfying, I will wait for the other side’s next volley. If the next statement is not in any way connected to me walking away with more clarity or satisfaction, I leave it.
That is where I can either look at the cost of “being right,” or taking away the half-portion I got.

Yesterday this was practically lived.
A vendor at a market was selling CDs and vintage vinyls.
“Many younger people purchased some of the classic rock albums.”
Outside of his observations, I asked if he ever chatted to the young ones about their musical preferences or collections.
I wasn’t asking about the records. I was asking about the conversations surrounding them.
I mentioned how I observed people at my local watering hole being there for conversation rather than even the drinks.
He replied with, “One student purchased a stack of rock vinyls.”
Three iterations in, and he did not see my profound wisdom of noticing how a seller of classic rock could become an attraction in itself, prompting people to pitch up on a Saturday.

Once you begin seeing how meaning tanks, you learn not to overestimate the perceived value of your own bias.

Yes, you can quote me on that.
He gave me a CD for free, thanked me for my continued support.
For him, the conversation had already succeeded. For me, it had barely begun.