I just finished shovelling snow while listening to a Chris Cuomo podcast.
Those on both the left and right love to take shots at the guy. But he is just calling balls and strikes. I admire that. Anyway, while nearly giving myself a hernia — global warming can’t come fast enough — I noticed something about Mr. Cuomo: He talks to himself.
The Socratic method called for philosophical debate between two or more intellectuals by way of the Q&A. If death is the separation of body and soul, can we deduce immortality? Plato, may I kindly ask you to stop sipping from my wine goblet? Why, pray tell, is my beard so itchy?
Socrates was asking questions. Others answered.
Cuomo is starring in both roles.
At one point as I was wheezing and scraping the sidewalk, Chris was in my left ear having a spirited convo about how Donald Trump’s tariffs may backfire on America. He offered a declarative sentence. Then he’d say, “Why?” Then he’d answer his own question. New declarative sentence.
I felt like I was getting hypnotized in the wind chill.
Blah, blah, blah … WHY? Blah, blah, blah … WHY? Blah, blah, blah … WHY?
I might install a listening device inside Cuomo’s car to eavesdrop on his drive-thru monologues: “Can I get a Sausage ‘N Egg McMuffin? WHY? Because I’m hungry. Yeah, but you exercise and eat right. Well, it’s my cheat day. WHY? Life is about balance. Can I also get a Strawberry Banana Smoothie? WHY? I need to wash down the McMuffin and there are no protein shakes in the NewsNation green room. WHY? Independent journalists prefer —”
Drive-Thru Clerk: “— Sir, can you please pull up to the pay window?”
Thomas Edison. Albert Einstein. Leonardo da Vinci. These geniuses all engaged in self-talk. I once read that Will Smith monologues. Hopefully, he doesn’t spiral into an unhinged tizzy and then slap himself. Warren Buffett? Yup, it seems the Oracle of Omaha can also be the Babbler of Bathroom.
Studies have linked self-talk to improved cognition, sharper attention and problem solving. Is this why I always end up saying, “What the hell is this thing for?” while assembling Ikea furniture? Self-talk is not to be confused with any spontaneous exclamation upon stubbing your toe.
I recently wrote about “purposeless chatter.” Consider this the solipsistic coda. But if self-talk is also linked to reduced anxiety, as some experts believe, we are about to inhabit a world where everyone is talking to themselves while behind the wheel, in grocery stores, at the park, in office cubicles, waiting to board a plane, watching the Oscars or even running the free world.
I guarantee you Trump talks to himself every night after Secret Service agents tuck him into the Presidential Bedroom. He pulls the duvet up to his chin, adjusts his Putin Underoos and launches into a manic epilogue:
“You had a great day, Donald. So did you, Mr. President. Some people are saying it was the greatest day ever. I have an idea for tomorrow. What? We put a tariff on UFOs, buy Switzerland, launch a drone strike on Mitch McConnell’s house and ban Crayola from making brown markers. I love you. I love you, too.”
I was once chatting with José Bautista — congratulations on this week’s Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame induction! — and was distracted by something in my clubhouse periphery. Edwin Encarnación was sprawled nearby on a piece of furniture that looked like what might happen if a BarcaLounger had a baby with a dentist chair. His hips were kind of gyrating. I can’t say for sure if he was talking to himself. But his lips were also moving, almost like he was in a trance and whispering in tongues.
Then he left and later had a great night at the plate.
When should you feel comfortable talking to yourself? How should I know. Ask yourself. I’d maybe keep the chit-chat to when you are alone. That’s what Oprah does. You probably don’t want to blurt out random thoughts in a crowded elevator or subway car. That might scare others into talking to the authorities. And you really ought to hit the mute button or at least subvocalize if the words escaping your brain come immediately after your spouse says, “I bought us tickets to the ballet this weekend!”
The internet was supposed to bring us together. What a big, fat lie. Social media is anti-social. Now everyone is sitting alone behind a keyboard and clacking out posts and status updates, all of which amount to talking to yourself.
So screw it. Go ahead and solo blather in the real world.
It might help you navigate these dark times. But … why?
