Conversations

Finding the right way to communicate is not easy. If it were, we'd all live in a better world every minute of every day.

Many people don't know how communication works. Others will find the experience uncomfortable. A few will just roll their eyes. When you, like most of us, are boneheads in communication, settle for an easy-to-follow guidebook. I happened to come across The Communication Book written by Mikael Krogerus and Roman Tschäpper. It's a fast read, and consists of 44 important communication theories.

One important take-away lesson for me is the mantra: "Listen, don't talk; it's not about you."

When was the last time you hear from an acquaintance who has lost a family member? Be careful. Don't start talking about the time you lost a family member. This means you should resist talking about yourselves. You're trying to draw parallel and show that you understood how your friend feels, I know. In reality, as the radio broadcaster Celeste Headlee put it in a TED Talk, it's not the same. It's never the same. Don't share your own grief stories and personal anecdotes.

Remember, it's not about you.

Sprain

Injury during ski does happen, and I had mine in Hokkaido.

After buying an all-mountain pass, an electronic tag gave me access to all chairlifts and gondolas. I knew my standard pretty well and confined myself to beginners' terrain. That's what green circle ski slope rating symbol stands for. A green trail is de rigueur for those in search of adventure but not too thrilling one. Strange though it might seem, I still sprained the medial collateral ligament in my left knee on a green slope.

I fell. A bad fall. Gratefully, I didn't hear a pop sound, and still could stand up wobbly. Maybe I didn't tear my ligament. Yet.

I pressed on my left knee and tested the movement, seized with a sudden and foreboding dread so immense, so tense, that I could almost feel the terror pulsing inside me.

"Can I run again?" I stared at my knee, mouth agape. That's for me to worry about.

Blizzard

On the second day of our ski trip in Hokkaido, we were hit by a massive snow storm bringing gusts of wind up and plunging temperatures down. All the way below minus twenty degrees.

I was skiing on beginner terrain with my daughter. We passed each other. Our eyes met for a half second. Maybe less. Then we accelerated, turned right and left, concentrating on finding the way downslope. We seemed lost, dazed, as if we relied more on memory than vision to locate the path. Alas, only the most intrepid skier, if not Yeti, would dare to continue in such cluttered condition.

Without hesitating, we cut short the mountain activity. The afternoon was better spent indoor, I thought. Perhaps a book to read with a cup of coffee. In another moment, I was brewing coffee.

Bringing with me a novel has always been my travel plan. This time, by coincidence, I had All the Light We Cannot See. This novel's title more or less sums up my experience with the snow storm.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

We hear story after story of the extraordinary dreams which came true and flourished. Not too many stories get passed along, though. Not that great stories can't pass down from generation to generation, most of them can, but they never stick inside our heads as we get old.

Think Mary Poppins, a classic and evergreen story. We all remember the two cheerful children, Michael and his sister Jane. Who won't? Their names bring to mind supercalifragilisticexpialidocious flying adventure with a magical nanny and a chimney sweep. They were jolly. Well, up to a point.

That's what I found out when I brought my daughter to watch the sequel movie Mary Poppins Returns this morning. The two of them had grown up, and were preoccupied by all those no-nonsense adult business, from plumbing leaks to the bank loan. We all sensed how their appearances had changed. In which all their humor had been handed in and vanished.

Under the watchful eye of the Great Slump, Michael and Jane exchanged surprised looks when they heard the mantra "Everything is possible - even the impossible." They could no longer believe in that.

But they were wrong.

In the same way we needed to grow up when we were children, now that we are adults we need to grow down. If growing up means getting mature, growing down is about learning again to become more open, curious and creative.