I spent my first half of my life struggling at school lunch tables, keggers and cocktail parties to come up with enough good stuff to talk about.
During those years, I learned to spin the barest thread of conversation into a relevant remark.
Now I have far, far too much that I could talk about. Old expressions. Funny little stories that always get a laugh. Long yarns, and well-developed arguments.
And now I'm finding it just as hard—or harder—not to pull the threads, but rather to wait to say the salient thing.
Perhaps there was one day or week or year between these two phases when I hit the conversational sweet spot.
But I didn't notice it.