in going to, and in all likelihood also in giving, parties. To be sociable means welcoming

the idea of being in a room replete with an above-average number of other guests, many

of whom will be unknown, most of whom will be holding a glass of alcohol, bantering,

with lights lower than they normally would be, and music somewhat higher than required

in order faithfully to catch the details of another's voice. Parties have become synonymous

with sociability because of certain underlying ideas about what true social connection might

require and entail. We assume that sociability naturally springs up when lots of people are

put together in a room, that it means speaking a lot and notably cheerfully about things

that have been happening in our lives, that it depends on a jokey manner and – ideally

– on the possession of a few entertaining anecdotes, often involving striking coincidences.

But such assumptions sidestep two sizeable objections. Firstly, true sociability – that

is a real connection between two people – is almost never built up via anything cheerful.

It is the result of making ourselves vulnerable before another person, by revealing some of

is broken, lost, confused, lonely and in pain within us. We build genuine connections when

we dare to exchange thoughts that might leave us open to humiliation and judgement; we make

real friends through sharing in an uncensored and frank way a little of the agony and confusion

of being alive. Secondly, true sociability requires a context. We are generally under

such pressure to appear normal, self-possessed and solid, we are understandably uninclined

spontaneously to disclose our true selves. Our default mode is – without anything sinister

being meant by this – to lie about who we are and what is really going on in our lives.

This suggests that a genuinely social occasion might be rather different from what we typically

envisage. We think of a 'good host' as someone who makes sure there is enough wine

and, at a pinch, ensures people know each other's names. But in the profound sense,

a good host is someone who creates the conditions in which strangers can start to feel safe

about being sad and desperate together. Unfortunately, the modern world seems particularly resistant

to anything that seems artificial around parties, which threatens to evoke that most dreaded

of all social genres: the corporate get-together. The thought is simply to pack a room and leave

the rest to nature. But a commitment to deep sociability might lead us to recognise that

we depend on a little artful choreography to get us into the psychological zone in which

connections can unfold. We might need encouragement – and even a helpful lanyard – to share

a little of what is sad within us. We need help in networking, not in order to find new

investment opportunities but so as to identify shared regrets, humiliations and feelings

of despair. Parties as they are currently structured constitute a clever ruse by a sharp

minority, perhaps only ten per cent of humanity, to persuade the rest of us that we have been

provided with the social contact we crave. But, in truth, it takes a sharply insular

and misanthropic person to feel that what goes on in an average party really counts

as anything like the requisite encounter with one's fellow human animal. If we have a

lingering horror of parties, we should be generous towards our hunches. It doesn't

mean that we don't like other people, rather that we have too ambitious a conception of

social contact to put up with what is on offer at most parties. The mark of a truly sociable

person might, in many situations, simply be a strong desire to stay at home.

If you're interested in coming to San Francisco to meet us at the end of March, please click on the link on the screen now to find out more.

We hope to see you there.