When we imagine the most "admirable, clever and loving couples," we often romanticize them as individuals who have "properly cracked the puzzles of intimacy and emotional maturity." We assume that their private lives consist of high-minded discourse—perhaps analyzing "attachment theory," discussing their "early bonds with their parents," or engaging with the intellectual depths of "Melanie Klein" and "Akira Kurosawa." We expect the gold standard of relationships to be a constant stream of rational, logical, and noble communication.
However, the reality of deep connection is far more chaotic and, at first glance, seemingly trivial. If we were to eavesdrop on the most stable couples, we would not find them debating philosophy. Instead, we would encounter what the author describes as "regressive nonsense." This includes debates about why "bananas grow in an oblong curved shape," complaints about an "ulcer on the left side of their tongue," or bizarre musings on "lyrics in an album by Dire Straits" delivered in a "bad imitation of a German accent." This behavior, which might be dismissed as a "distraction or unfortunate lapse," is actually a "high-water mark of emotional intimacy."
At its core, intimacy is defined by the courage to be "increasingly and bravely weird with someone else and finding out that that's okay." When we are in public, we present our "sensible selves" to the world, adhering to societal standards of logic and decorum. However, deep love allows us to drop these masks. By sharing our "incoherent chatter" and "shooting the breeze," we are granting our partners a rare privilege: the honor of seeing who we "actually are, not who we should or pretend to be."
Our internal lives are defined by a "stream of consciousness that mixes the serious and the unserious, the consequential and the flighty." By engaging in this seemingly meaningless dialogue—such as discussing a "chocolate biscuit dipped in strawberry yoghurt"—we are inviting our partners into the "primordial parts of ourselves that the rules of society otherwise censor."
Ultimately, this "naughty, sweet, curious and highly peculiar babbling" is a "bellwether of the most serious kinds of interpersonal closeness." It is a profound act of vulnerability. When we "talk about nothing in particular," we are doing something far more significant than articulating rational arguments; we are engaging in one of the most "courageous and important things in the world": allowing another human being to truly know us.