BOB HOSKINS, RELENTLESS CHATTER AND THE ART OF INTERNAL CONVERSATION

Back in 1994, in a tone straddling somewhere between menacing and reassuring, Bob Hoskins pronounced to the nation that “It’s good to talk”. It’s a phrase so deeply woven into the fabric of British cultural life, that it would seem churlish - sacrilegious even - to challenge BT’s broadly accepted maxim.  

The benefits of talking are reinforced everywhere. Problems shared are halved. We unload onto someone else. Sharing is caring. Thoughts are said to be better out than in. Tell me what’s going on with you….it might just help. 

We never see a commercial extolling the virtues of disconnection. Of silence. Of the need to reflect on our personal responses to the experiences of the day. To take some time to reflect on the contents of our own mind.  

In our personal and professional lives, we hurtle unwittingly towards ever-more connection, swifter communication and more rapid responses. We now see adverts from Facebook showcasing how meaningful moments can be experienced using their technology. An all-seeing, Sauron-esque eye perched atop your TV desperately dissuading you from any desire to internalise, instead constantly urging you to display your ill-formed, emotional thoughts for all the world to see.   

In the 28 years since that BT commercial first aired, we have become accustomed to talking not just about our own lives, but everyone else’s. Every facet of the modern experience is open to comment, interpretation and ill-considered reductionism.  

Political commentary emanates from cottages on cobbled streets and high-rise city flats every second of the day. Even without a perceptive cultural antennae, everyone can be a film critic. TV interviews are instantly spun by armchair opponents or advocates. The latest TV dramas are accompanied with instant reaction and live blogs. There is no bus shelter or train platform safe from vociferous reaction to Westminster’s daily breaking scandals. Obscure message boards are saturated with insight on how FTSE 100 companies should conduct their business. Unsolicited relationship advice is casually disseminated in 140 characters to strangers.  

We are expected to have an opinion about everything, without ever giving ourselves the time to think about anything.  

Sometimes, it's good not to talk.  

Sometimes, it’s great to disconnect.  

A historical perspective 

We don’t have many adverts proclaiming how important solitude is. Urging us to grasp every possible moment to still our thoughts and recharge our brains. 

How many leading business figures truly advocate disconnection? Not too many. Certainly not Mark Zuckerberg. He recently stated that he’s going to “turn up the heat” on his Meta employees so that they either “step up or leave” and meet reimagined “aggressive goals”. Seemingly, the inference is that those who attempt to disconnect from Meta over the coming months will be rewarded not with greater riches, but with a P45.  

Yet there may be one historical figure that Zuckerberg could appreciate. Someone who was not averse to tightening the screws and applying pressure to those around him as needed. Yet even with a legendary degree of ruthlessness, he still appreciated the value of disconnection from the outside world. Someone unafraid to turn his attention inward, away from the pressures and travails of his daily life.  

“When evening comes, I return home and go into my study. In the threshold I strip off my muddy, sweaty, workday clothes, and put on the robes of court and palace, and in this graver dress I enter the antique courts of the ancients and am welcomed by them, and there I taste the food that alone is mine, and for which I was born. And there I make bold to speak to them and ask the motives of their actions, and they, in their humanity, reply to me. And for the space of four hours I forget the world, remember no vexation, fear poverty no more, tremble no more at death…”

- Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli   

In short, Machiavelli left the working world behind and enjoyed a good quiet read! At those moments, his thoughts were turned inwards. His questions were self-directed. Conversation was internalised and he developed his ideas. 

All without the need for constant connection.  

Addiction to communication 

Our addiction to communication prevents us from effectively turning our thoughts inwards. The ripple effects of this can be found in the unrealistic way we tend to tackle our days.  

Fresh from sleep and with minds open to possibilities, we create unrealistic to-do lists that if we have a moment to reflect, would immediately be recognised as preposterous. Yet on we naively plod, ascending the foothills of an unconquerable mountain, distracting ourselves with conversation, constant connection and limited self-reflection. We rework our lists, embark once more on the journey, succumb to resentment as our phones ping, our stomachs grumble, our bladders expand or the doorbell goes. Thwarted.  

As the hours unfold, our optimism dwindles, our efforts fall short and the day concludes with a blend of regret, confusion and self-flagellation.  

We overburden our limited capacity for achievement with a belief that good lives are constantly active and outwardly noisy. That we should be constantly connected, devoted to the bustle of conversations so as not to miss out on any opportunities. We rush towards our next thought, our next experience, in the pursuit of illumination. Yet the important lessons remain out of reach.  Our world of interrelatedness feels like a privilege, until we become aware that it is merely a coercion. 

Smart solitude 

Carving out time with quiet, uninterrupted thoughts can turn a busy day into a productive one. The rarely-celebrated ability to turn our thoughts inwards is the key to bolstering our ability to achieve.   

Henry Thoreau was an American naturalist, essayist, poet and philosopher. He was an advocate for simple living in natural surroundings and was an arch-proponent of the positive role of solitude in human life. Following an experiment in which he lived alone in a small cabin for two years, he created an analogy using three chairs that helps us to understand what meaningful solitude can look like.  

First, you need to sit alone in a single chair. This represents solitude. This is where wisdom stems from. Being alone with your own thoughts, testing new theories and solutions and undertaking thought experiments as you grapple with your own understanding. What do you truly think and believe? This period of solitude enables us to better know our own mind before sharing its contents with others.  

The second chair represents meaningful relationships. Once you have embraced a period of solitude, you can become a more effective listener, ready to come to conversations with something that is authentically yours to share.  

The third and final chair is wider society. Only once you have taken the time to sit on the first two chairs can you meaningfully contribute to the wider world. By connecting with more people, our own inner dialogue becomes more informed, rounded and the world is better able to benefit from our own finely-honed perspective.  

This is smart solitude. Something we often shy away from due to our peculiar modern fear of disconnection.  

Living for now - but what about tomorrow? 

In another widely-held truism, we are told to live for the now.  A quick response now, a day of constant interruptions, a series of quick-fire emails. We convince ourselves that we will concentrate and think smart thoughts tomorrow instead. Our tasks right now are urgent - we tell ourselves. I’ll be calmer and in control tomorrow.  

Humans have a propensity to overvalue the ‘now’ at the expense of the ‘future’. We want to be the quickest, not the smartest. In a work context, can you honestly say that thoughtful work is valued more highly than a superficial, light response? 

Yet this neglects the notion that the small acts we put in place today can compound into something far more meaningful in the years to come. Some time spent understanding our own ideas could be the most valuable investment we could possibly make.  

Yet who wants to wait? Who knows what we’ll find in our own heads?! 

So we plod on. Eradicating our own thoughts and disrupting the quiet of our mind. Casually disturbing the ecosystem of the place where our most effective plans could be made.  

So Hoskins, it may well be good to talk. But not all the time.  

Sometimes, despite all of our efforts to the contrary, a bit of quiet is really what we need.