“You probably know Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s painting, The Blind Leading the Blind. In that painting, each face has a different eye condition; all are trying to rely on their other senses to move forward, but it seems they will fall one by one.
I sometimes think of this painting when I walk down the street and see so many people who prefer to risk falling rather than watch where they’re going, each absorbed in something else.
But who am I to comment?
I used to be one of those people who walked around with a book in my hand, reading as I moved; I felt that travel time was important and didn’t want to waste it. Besides, I was reading the great books of the world, and I couldn’t put them down. You guessed it, I was also an introvert par excellence, a shy child who didn’t dare to look others in the eye; smiling wasn’t even an option. I was so reserved that sometimes I didn’t see when there were stairs ahead, lost in the world of my books. I’d trip and find myself at the bottom faster than expected. Even my parents thought I was “a bit different.” At least they didn’t call me “weird.”
I worked hard to come out of my shell. I remember a dear client of mine from the late ’90s who told me that few people in this life would have the patience and curiosity to discover what lay beyond my reserve, to discover the pearl within the shell; usually, people label quickly, and first impressions matter more than they should. She advised me to keep this in mind. I did, and still do. But it took a lot of time and effort to raise my head and see others, to allow myself to be seen. Nothing bad happened; in fact, I started smiling more, and the world seemed friendlier. I remember a psychologist I went to after my divorce who told me to put on a smile every morning, even if it felt forced. I’d get in the car and force a fake smile, hoping to learn. After years of intentional practice, I managed, more or less, to relax.
Another defining moment in this journey was my first trip to France in 1990, where I learned to greet people when entering shops and make small talk. I stayed there for three months and felt I’d changed for the better. I learned to find my place in conversations, to express what I wanted, to disagree, and to ask when I didn’t understand. I was like a snail in its shell, hearing the “Snail, snail, poke out your horns” rhyme for the first time, daring to come out into the sunshine. Of course, I sometimes retreated, but after seeing the light, I tried to stay away from the shadows.
Lately, though, I feel that my journey toward smiles, people, and connection has run parallel to the world’s path toward turning inward. Or, more accurately, not inward, but toward an extension of oneself: the mobile phone. What do I mean? These days, many people walk past each other without seeing or acknowledging one another; they’re “plugged in,” as my mother would say. They walk down the street, nodding to the beat of the music in their headphones, which might seem cool to them, or talking to themselves. Yes, I know they have earpieces, but hasn’t it ever happened to you that you felt they were talking to you or that you should respond?
I see a danger in these tendencies. Because we no longer see or care about those around us, we end up treating each other without respect or consideration. In the book Crucial Conversations, the authors say that respect is like air. When it’s present, no one notices. When it’s absent, it becomes the focus. When people perceive a lack of respect, the interaction shifts from the original purpose to defending one’s dignity.
There’s another equally important aspect. A lack of connection with others makes us sadder, meaner, and less sociable. I’ve taken the subway several times over the past few months and watched people. That’s something I’m good at—observing. There were only a few of us without our phones, while the rest seemed engrossed in games, social media, or music. It’s not just in Romania; I observed the same behavior in Paris this April, on the subway, at cafes, on the streets, and in other countries in recent months.
Disconnecting from others leads to poor social skills and breeds distrust. Interest in the person next to us is minimal. I see this often in the workplace. But when I witness the opposite—people showing care, empathy, and consideration—I make a point of acknowledging it.
What can we do? I once read a story about a woman at a dinner in 19th-century London, sitting next to then-Prime Minister William Gladstone. After the meal, she felt that Gladstone was the smartest man in England. A few days later, she dined next to Benjamin Disraeli, Gladstone’s political rival who would also become Prime Minister. After that dinner, the woman felt that she was the smartest person in England. What did Disraeli do? He asked questions, showed interest, and made her feel heard.
I invite you to reflect on how often you ask questions and genuinely listen to the answers, how much you care. Then, look around at those who ask you questions and genuinely care about your responses. I have many people around me who ask, “How are you?” and then turn away. They’ve ticked the box, but is that enough?
However, I also have a few people who ask questions and listen. A former professor from INSEAD behaves like this. When I speak with him, I feel like I must be my best self, providing good, coherent, and intelligent answers. Because he listens. Because he’s genuinely engaged in the conversation. Because he seems to care.
In conclusion, I believe working from home doesn’t help. We’re in our own minds, connected to Teams, Zoom, jumping from one meeting to another, not listening, and it seems that we’re only interested in our well-being. It’s not wrong to care about yourself; a dose of selfishness is healthy. But life without others alienates us. The longest-running longitudinal study, conducted by Harvard over 80 years, aimed to identify the psychosocial variables predicting a healthy and happy life. The study showed that the most important factor for a long and healthy life is the quality of relationships with others.
The project director since 2005, Robert Waldinger, stated, “You can be lonely in a crowd or a marriage. It’s not the number of friends you have that matters; it’s the quality of relationships with those closest to you.” Even in couples with disagreements, relying on each other contributed to stability and well-being.
So, I invite you to revisit Auguste Renoir’s painting Luncheon of the Boating Party, as a counterpoint to the painting I mentioned at the beginning. As much as I admire Bruegel, these uncertain times and constant changes call for a circle of people with whom we can support one another, relax, and practice what Horace called carpe diem.”
via: Forbes
