I was at the grocery store, standing in front of the soup aisle, looking for chicken broth.
Only chicken stock stared back at me.
So, I pulled out my phone.
And instead of calling my mother—a human being who would absolutely know the answer, who was awake, and who would probably enjoy hearing from me—I asked ChatGPT.
“What’s the difference between chicken stock and chicken broth?”
Within seconds, I had a clear, thorough explanation.
But I didn’t buy it. Not the stock, not the broth—and not the quiet realization that I had just chosen convenience over connection.
Because in that small, forgettable moment, I turned to technology instead of a person.
There were people all around me in that store—people I could have asked, laughed with, or learned from. I could have called my mother. I could have talked to a stranger. I could have connected.
When Convenience Replaces Connection
That choice—turning to a device before turning to a person—feels harmless. But multiplied across millions of small moments, it becomes a mirror of who we’ve become: connected everywhere and to everyone, yet lonelier than ever.
We are in a loneliness epidemic.
And the truth is, it’s not just about isolation. It’s about avoidance. We’ve stopped engaging in the small, unplanned interactions that make us feel human.
Technology answers our questions faster, but it can’t offer the warmth of being seen. It can’t replicate the simple joy of someone laughing at your question or adding, “My grandmother used to make broth from scratch—let me tell you how.”
Had I asked someone in the store, who knows what that conversation might have sparked? Maybe a smile. Maybe a new recipe. Maybe just a flicker of familiarity next time our paths crossed.
And that’s how relationships—community, even—begin.
A Lesson in the Elevator
The night before, I was in the elevator with a neighbor who was having a loud, animated debate over the phone about the “right age” to stop trick-or-treating.
As he stepped off, he turned and asked me, “Can I ask you a question?”
He wanted my opinion.
I said, “Sixteen.”
He grinned, repeated it to his friend—“See? Sixteen!”—and thanked me.
It was quick, funny, and simple. But it mattered. Because now, the next time we see each other, we’ll have something to smile about. A shared slice of humanity in a world that feels so major, so heavy, so digital.
That’s what we’re missing. Not deep, life-changing moments—just the small, spontaneous ones that remind us we’re not alone.
The Case for Chitchat
We need to bring back chitchat.
Not the weather kind, but the curious kind. The kind that starts with:
“Hey, do you know the difference between stock and broth?”
Because chitchat is connection in its simplest form. It doesn’t require vulnerability right away—it just requires presence.
Before connection can grow, we have to be open to it. And it starts, so simply, with a question.
A Challenge
Next time you have a question—no matter how small—ask a person first.
Ask your neighbor. Ask the cashier. Ask your mother.
You can still Google it later, but let the human interaction happen first.
Because every time you ask a person instead of a search bar, you create an opening.
And in that opening lives what we’re all craving—belonging, warmth, and proof that we still need one another.
Connection starts with a question. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to remember we’re still human.