The "Talking Points"

One honest conversation at a time. Because some of us were never meant for small talk.

I’m not the kind of person for whom connecting with others comes easily.

For the longest time, I thought I simply didn’t have good social skills. Those things were hard-earned in my late teens and early twenties — learned through sheer determination, putting myself out there, and teaching myself how to engage.

But every so often, when life gets heavy or I’m going through a difficult time, I retreat back into that familiar shell — the one I spent most of my childhood and early teenage years in. Hiding from the world. Not quite willing or able to reach out.

It’s lonely there, yes. Devoid of conversation or interaction.
But it’s safe.

And for a long time, safety was my highest priority. So safe it was.

For years, I rejected the idea that I wasn’t the outgoing, bubbly type — the kind of person who can strike up a conversation with anyone and make it look effortless. Now, in my late thirties, I’m finally starting to make peace with that part of myself.

I’ve learned how to communicate, yes. But if I’m honest, it doesn’t always feel natural. And often, it doesn’t feel meaningful. Small talk feels like a slow drain of energy — words without gravity, moments that dissolve as soon as they end.

Photo by XVIIIZZ on Unsplash

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Recently, I met a couple who were remodeling their basement.
A big part of their design decisions revolved around what they called talking points — unique features in their interior that could serve as conversation starters during gatherings with friends.

Their friends had them too — those special pieces or stories that made interaction easy. And it got me thinking: maybe we all have our own talking points, even if we don’t realize it.

For some people, it’s art, sports, work, kids, or travel. For me, it’s often my experiences living in different cultures. I find it easy to connect with immigrants — we instantly share a dozen unspoken understandings. The contrasts between countries, the small cultural shocks, the nostalgia, the humor — these are the “talking points” that carry conversations effortlessly.

But with people who don’t share that context, it’s harder. Our talking points don’t always align.

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Something that helped me realize my own style of connection was discovering TimeLeft dinners — an app that matches you with five strangers for an evening out. You don’t know who you’ll meet, you just show up at a restaurant, sit down, and talk.

I’ve gone to about ten dinners so far, and to my surprise, I’ve genuinely enjoyed them. It didn’t feel forced or draining. Maybe because, with strangers, the expectations are different. You decide what to share, how deep to go, and there’s no pressure for it to lead anywhere.

It’s like watching a movie trailer — short, condensed, full of highlights. You see just enough to be intrigued, to connect, to feel something real for a moment, without the weight of the full story.

And sometimes, I realize I enjoy those “trailers” more than the full movie.

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Over time, I’ve noticed that my connections tend to fall into three groups.

There are strangers, where conversations can be surprisingly meaningful because the boundaries are undefined. You can go deep or keep it light — it’s up to you.

Then there are close friends, the ones who see you unfiltered. With them, you can talk about everything — the good, the bad, the boring. There’s no performance, no small talk required.

And then there are the in-betweens — people who are not strangers but not close enough for full honesty. The ones you see occasionally, where conversations orbit around safe topics: What have you been up to? How was your weekend?

Those are the hardest ones for me. The ones where you can’t go too deep, but can’t stay too shallow either. Where connection has to be maintained, but never fully felt.

And maybe that’s where the idea of a “talking point” comes in again — something that bridges that in-between space. Something that gives us permission to connect, even when words feel clumsy, and silence feels heavy.

Maybe “talking points” are just our way of saying: I’m trying.
Trying to reach across the small gap between myself and the world.

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So, after watching myself in all these different kinds of interactions, I’m finally making peace with the way I connect. Because everyone connects differently — and my kind of connection is the deep kind.

I want conversations that mean something. I want people I can be brutally honest with, where we can talk about what’s real and raw and dear to us. I don’t enjoy surface-level exchanges where there’s pressure to share something personal, knowing the other person won’t really understand or meet me halfway.

If you’re anything like me, you know that sharing something deep is an act of trust. It’s not something to be offered lightly, not a token to trade for closeness or approval. The deep things in my life are sacred, and I don’t hand them over carelessly.

After struggling to connect for most of my life, I’m starting to understand my type of connection — and to accept that maybe I’ll never be the bubbly, small-talk, happy-go-lucky type. I’m the one who goes deep. The one who asks difficult questions. The one you can sit with for hours in a quiet bar, a drink in hand, talking about the meaning of life — and feel that it’s time well spent.

And that’s okay.

So I’m curious — what about you?
What’s your connection style?
How do you reach out, and what kind of conversations feed you?

Photo by Matt Nelson on Unsplash

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About the author:
I’m Victoria Veles, author of Find Me in Your Dreams — a mystical tale interlacing magic, mystery, and self-discovery. I believe fiction can heal. Through stories and reflections, I explore the hidden layers of being human — the pain, the beauty, and the quiet resilience that comes from learning to face ourselves with compassion. My writing is a journey through the dark places we often avoid, toward the light that’s always waiting to be found.

📖 Find Me in Your Dreams is available on Amazon.