This is #35 in a series of month-end reflections on the state of the world, and other things that come to mind, as I walk, hike, and explore in my local community.

photo from pxhere, public domain cc0
This week I’ve been wandering around our neighbourhood pretending to be deaf.
Many languages are spoken in the streets and malls and cafés here. Most of these languages I do not know. And of course it is generally rude to sidle close enough to people to be able to hear clearly what they’re saying (this is a very noisy city), even if their language happened to be one that I knew.
So I’m trying to focus my attention this week on what I see (body language, facial expressions, behaviours) rather than what I hear. Especially since I think people say a lot of things in order to get attention, appreciation, or reassurance, rather than because they actually believe (or act on) what they say.
So by pretending I can’t hear, and pretending that all the people I see aren’t actually saying anything, just murmuring to themselves, I can focus on non-verbal signals.
But before I go any further, a caveat: Tons of books and articles have been written on how to “read” body language. Like other “self-help” books, they try to simplify an extremely complex subject. The more I observe of non-verbal communication, the more persuaded I am that, except in the most obvious cases, we can only guess at what the body language we observe is actually trying to convey, or to conceal. Still, to me, it’s fascinating.
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A young woman pushes her baby carriage over beside the table next to me in the café, and promptly leaves the little girl inside it alone to go and place her order. I’m the closest person to her, so I suddenly have her full attention. Or more accurately, she has mine. She looks at me directly, and then shifts her gaze, after about three seconds, up and to the right, before bringing it back to me. It’s comical to observe, and I can’t help but smile. She immediately beams back at me. Now she repeats the behaviour with a woman at the table the second closest to hers. The other woman smiles, too, and the baby beams back and then puts her hands together, fingers and palms connected. Now, she swings around and attempts to climb down from the carriage, but mom arrives in time to stop this maneuver. Game over.
My dog was a master at reading faces and body language, even when the signals were unsure or contradictory. Once, just before I’d decided to take her for a walk, I came in from the car wearing a halloween mask, walked towards her with a lurch, and made scary movements with my hands, to see how she’d respond. Unperturbed, she went and retrieved her leash. She could read my intention to take her for a walk just from the signals, and/or the chemicals, my body was sending. The rest of the nonsense was simply ignored as noise.
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Sometimes when you watch body language, it’s like you’re living in the Land of Nods. There are all kinds of different nods to be noticed, including nods that are either accidentally or deliberately ambiguous in ‘meaning’. There are gentle (‘non-committal acknowledging’?) nods, nods followed by a little head tilt (‘maybe’?), repeated (‘understanding’ or ‘encouraging’?) nods, and enthusiastic (‘agreeing’ or ‘OK got that get on with it’?) nods.
Then there are the partial nods, the ones that stop at the bottom when the nodder then looks up at the speaker (often over the tops of their glasses). And there are the nods (‘are you sure’?) accompanied by raised eyebrows. And sometimes the accompanying movement of the eyes, or the placement of the hands during the nod, suggests a more complex and nuanced response.
It’s a generalization, but it seems that women are more inclined to nod (and to interpret a nod from other women) as meaning they hear and understand what is being said, rather than that they necessarily agree. And, for whatever reason, women seem to nod slightly faster and more shallowly than men.
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I watch as two men in the café are talking animatedly about something. One of them exhibits a behaviour I’ve observed before: As he listens, he raises his head slightly and then turns his head slightly to the right, and then gazes up and to the right (‘I’m considering what you’re saying’?)
ChatGPT tells me that gazing up and to the left often means the listener is recalling information from the past and considering what is being said analytically in that context, while gazing up and to the right often means the listener is thinking creatively or imaginatively about what is being said, and its possible implications. Pointing with their head and eyes at the hemisphere of their brain they want to access in their consideration. Seems a bit far-fetched, but when I’ve observed my own behaviour, it’s always up and to the right, and I must admit that my consideration of new ideas is generally imaginative — trying to appreciate why the speaker believes what they’re saying.
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A younger couple sitting opposite each other in the café are mimicking each other with a behaviour I have seen most often as a young male display: They are slouched slightly backward in their chairs, and, regardless of who is talking, they are mostly looking at each other (their faces are pointed towards each other) but their eyelids are partly closed and their gaze is slightly downcast (‘I’m cool’?) There doesn’t seem to be any antipathy or stress between them — they smile slightly from time to time. Gestures of self-soothing or boredom? Non-committal signalling? Or are they hiding something from each other? Or reluctant to admit something to themselves? Or just being polite to avoid the appearance of staring?
The ubiquity of laptop and phone screens has changed the calculus of the downward gaze during conversations, I think. If your downward gaze could be interpreted as keeping ‘half an eye’ on your screen, it would understandably be considered rude, though this couple don’t have screens or phones in eye-shot. And in conversations where you’re working on something together, and using screens for your collaboration, the downward gaze at the screen is normal and expected.
It seems clear to me that, especially in crowded, very public places (like buses), phones and tablets can be used in a distancing, self-soothing way, a way to create a safe, personal ‘space’ for oneself and safely and ‘politely’ remove the need to interact with strangers. If that’s the case, is that a good thing or a bad thing?
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OK, so now I have to confess that, since I caught sight of myself smiling at people in the elevator a couple of months ago, and seeing how awful and insincere my smile looked in the elevator mirror, I’m been watching my own body languages, as well as others’. When I’m in front of a mirror, I close my eyes, make a face that I think expresses X, and then open my eyes and am (usually) astonished that my expression actually conveys something very different. And on Zoom calls, I watch my own expression and not just those of the other faces on the call.
It’s pretty discouraging. I can now appreciate how people who are ‘watching’ my facial and body language can end up misunderstanding, or being confused about, what I’m saying. When I think I’m conveying a friendly smile, I’m actually displaying something of a grimace. When I think I’m conveying a thoughtful expression, I’m actually displaying a distracted, clueless one. And when I think I’m conveying an intelligent, ‘together’ expression (mouth slightly ajar), I’m actually displaying an unhappy, anxious one. And yet… when I am totally focused on precisely what words I’m using to articulate some thought or idea or information, I’m told, my face looks suddenly relaxed, animated, and enthused. When ‘I’ get out of the way and forget who ‘I’ am and who I am pretending to be, the real Dave seems to show through.
That’s sobering enough that I’m now trying to give everyone else I talk with considerably more leeway for confusing body language, and to focus instead on what they’re saying, instead of judging how they seem to be saying it. Hence the title of this post. In fact, it sometimes seems to help rather than hinder when I close my eyes when I’m listening. Of course, that runs the risk of seeming rude, or uninterested. So, of course, I nod while I do it.
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On the street, a couple are weaving their way quickly through groups of people walking in the opposite direction, and talking intently as they go. He is looking intently at his phone, apparently ‘navigating’ them toward a particular destination following directions from the screen, while she has her arm on his wrist and is ‘navigating’ him as they walk, so they don’t collide with others, or with traffic. Multitasking, binary style.
I watch others on the street as they silently ‘negotiate’ their interactions with others. What occurs to me is that some people’s behaviour suggests they want to be seen by others (a relative ‘loudness’ in their dress, their movements, their voices), some people’s behaviour suggests they don’t want to be seen by anyone (that kind of glazed, unfocused straight ahead look at the spaces ‘between’ or right ‘through’ people), and still others want to be seen by certain people and don’t want to be seen by everyone else (so you see sudden changes in the style, direction and duration of their gaze).
There have been studies that suggest that three seconds (precisely the length of the baby’s gaze toward me) is the ‘ideal’ length of time to hold one’s gaze. Much shorter than that can be taken as ‘rejection’, and much longer than that can be taken as ‘obsession’, either of which can be taken as rude. I watch one woman look at, and then quickly away from, most of the people she passes, and then look for (about) three seconds at one man, and then look away, and then immediately look back at him for another few seconds. It happened too quickly, and clearly unconsciously, for anything to come from this, but I had to smile as I observed it. There would clearly seem to be something to the expression “worth a second look”.
And if my observations are correct, it seems to me that the “three-second rule” should be qualified to consider the distance between the ‘gazers’ — the farther the ‘gazers’ are apart, the longer the tolerable and polite ‘gazing time’, it seems to me, is likely to be.
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Another thing I see, both in the café and now as I board the Skytrain, is what might be called a real-space version of ‘musical chairs’. In both places there is a kind of ‘jockeying’ for seats. People want their own space and as much privacy as their place can reasonably offer, so they pick seats that leave some space between them and others. Some do this quite aggressively (or perhaps fearfully), using parcels, backpacks, elbows, and crossed legs to block seats beside them. And on the Skytrain, you see the usual ‘manspreading’, conveying fear and hostility; in my experience, this is never oblivious or accidental.
At each table of the café, you can see the taking of space seemingly in order to try to optimize the pleasantness of each person’s experience. Some people will move their chairs to be closer to, or farther from, others who they do, or don’t want to converse with, or to be overheard by. (If you’ve been in food ‘courts’, you’ve probably unconsciously been annoyed that the chairs are fixed in position, so you can’t move or orient them the way you would like.) At square tables, some will quietly maneuver to sit beside the person they’re with, or conversely, to sit opposite who they’re with. I once watched a couple shift their positions this way several times (unconsciously or ‘subtly’ I’m not sure) — him moving beside her and her then moving across from him, like a chess game, or a ballet.
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Back in the café, I’m looking at hands. I watch where people place their fingers when they’re listening. There are several ‘head-cradling’ postures that people use (my portrait photo on my blog home page, taken during a Zoom call, demonstrates one) — there’s the fist(s) under the chin posture (‘rapt’ or ‘tired’?), the thumb(s) under the chin and the fingers up the side of the face posture (‘pensive’?), the elbows on the table and both hands holding the sides of the face posture (‘adoring’, or ‘impatient’, or even ‘annoyed’?), the both hands up the sides of the nose posture (‘distressed’?), the fingers but not palms against one side of the face (‘attentive’ or ‘skeptical’?), and the one hand on the forehead partially shielding the eyes (‘guarded’ or ‘concealing’?). Most of these, I think, require considering what other body language is being exhibited, to interpret. But they’re very common displays, as we discovered when, in the early days of CoVid-19, we were advised to avoid touching our faces. Hard to do!
I watch a couple conversing at a table by the window. They both have large lattes, in the wonderful, big, heavy mugs that really require two hands to drink from safely. What I notice, though, is that as each raises their mug to drink, their facial expressions suddenly become more dynamic, and then, when their hands are back in ‘play’, their facial expressions become more placid. Is this just energy looking for a way out, that will employ one form of expression to do so when another is unavailable? (As an inveterate foot-jiggler, I also notice the guy’s feet jiggle more when his hands are ‘tied up’).
A woman conversing with a much younger woman is displaying what might be called a ‘hand tent’ — fingertips together in front of her, palms apart, in an inverted ‘V’. ChatGPT says this display “suggests confidence, authority, or a sense of self-assuredness” and elaborates: “This gesture is often seen in high-stakes conversations, presentations, or negotiations, where displaying confidence is advantageous. When paired with a relaxed demeanour, it tends to convey a balanced and calm authority.” I’ve tried it, and it’s fun to watch the responses.
I’m intrigued that, in all the time I’ve spent in this café, I’ve almost never seen the classic older-white-male ‘antler’ display (hands on the back of the head, elbows out). I saw this all the time in my workplace, and was often guilty of doing it myself (my excuse is that I was ‘just stretching and relaxing my muscles’). It is clearly a ‘power’ display in most cases. Maybe the reason I haven’t seen it much lately is just that older white males are a minority in this café. And maybe the reason I don’t display it often any more (I don’t think!) is because power is much less important to me than it was in my competitive, anxious work years.
And then of course, there’s the other classic hand display — crossed arms. This too seems to have several ‘flavours’: There’s the protective crossed arms (a kind of “self-hug”), the impatient or angry crossed arms, and the ‘I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands’ crossed arms.
And there seem to be three kinds of people when it comes to expressing things with their hands: Those who often use their hands to punctuate (or, sometimes, contradict or obscure) what they’re saying, those who mostly keep their hands in their laps or otherwise inert, and those whose hands seem to be all over the place, as if they were untamed creatures with minds of their own. Though it seems hand movements can be infectious — I just watched a man who kept his hands quietly in place while the guy he was talking with was gesticulating wildly as they talked. And after about twenty minutes, the former’s ‘quiet’ hands suddenly sprang to life, and from that point on I was sure they were going to knock their drinks off the table with their movements.
Two other observations, from yesterday’s café visit: Women talking with other women seem to use their hands the most, and the most expressively, while mixed-gender couples (other than those obviously romantically involved) seem to use their hands the least. And: Women in the café touch their hair a lot more than men do. And no, I have no idea what that means, if anything.
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As usual, the majority of the people in the café today not only have their screens out, they are actively absorbed looking at them. That’s less true of the people in face-to-face conversation with others, of course. But I’m starting to suspect that those screen-gazers are much less oblivious to others around them, and what those others are doing, than one might expect. This seems, naturally enough, especially true for the women screen-gazers, who have probably experienced a lot more moments of social insecurity than the men. I don’t know how I ‘know’ this, or even whether it’s actually true. It’s just a kind of instinctive sense I get. I do notice that the people who seem more taken aback when their screen-gazing is suddenly interrupted (eg by noise or movement at adjacent tables) appear to be mostly men. Women’s radar is always out, in the background of their attention, because, perhaps, to be safe, it has to be.
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I sense that there are two conflicting fears that often lurk behind many of our non-verbal signals (and maybe to some extent all of our communications). The first is the fear of being misunderstood. This fear is understandable — misunderstandings can have crucial, even deadly consequences. If our non-verbal signals can somehow compensate for our verbal incoherence, surely that’s a good thing.
The second of these is the fear of being understood all too well. Conveying a harsh truth, especially to someone who’s vulnerable or whom we really care about, can be devastating. Sometimes, people are just not ready to hear terrible truths. Sometimes, the world is not ready to hear terrible truths. Sometimes, as desperately as you want to tell the truth, and the listener says they want to hear it, that truth is just too terrible to tell.
This can be especially challenging when you and/or the listener are adamant that the truth is always the best thing to say. So sometimes there may be a temptation to use non-verbal signals to cushion, or even quietly undermine or conceal, a terrible truth-telling. Or, if spoken truth-telling is too harsh, there may be a temptation to use the non-verbal signals to tell the real truth instead. But man, this is difficult to navigate!
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And there seems to be something about our culture(s) that makes not knowing and not having an opinion on everything, somehow shameful. That would seem to be a relatively modern phenomenon, and I’m not sure it’s a healthy one. It’s almost as if your admission that you don’t know about something, or don’t have an opinion about it, it means that you don’t care about what’s going on in the world. There seems to be a prevailing (and dubious) belief that we all have a lot more agency than we actually have, and a lot more agency than we had before we had access to so much information.
I think this manifests itself in the way in which we communicate non-verbally. There are, I think, a million silent ways to say “I don’t know”. There is of course, the classic shrug, which is cleverly ambiguous — If you’re ashamed to admit you don’t know, the shrug could equally mean you don’t care, or that you don’t have a strong opinion either way because you appreciate the complexity of the subject. I catch myself shrugging often, usually with other ‘qualifying’ gestures — the head tilt, the raised eyebrows, the upraised hands. After forty years in the work world in which my job and reputation depended on me ‘knowing’, I have finally realized that “I don’t know” is usually the most honest, useful, refreshing answer I can give to just about any question.
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Babies and dogs, of course, can read our non-verbal signals far better than we befuddled human adults can. They probably also convey what they want us to ‘hear’ with non-verbal signals that we will never attain (re-attain?) the competence to understand, since we are now so dependent on our awful, imprecise, abstract, deceiving languages. And for babies and dogs, the default, silent answer to almost every question is “I don’t know”.
We should be so wise.