"How's it going?" "Good, you?" "Good." You've had this exchange a thousand times. You'll have it a thousand more. It means nothing, reveals nothing, and yet it's required. Skipping it would be strange.

Small talk is supposed to be easy. It's the lightest form of human interaction. But for many people, it feels like work. The repetition, the performance, the effort of seeming engaged when discussing nothing, all of it drains energy that shouldn't need spending.

If small talk exhausts you, you're not antisocial. The modern version of casual conversation has become genuinely tiring. The fatigue is real, even if the conversations aren't.

The Problem People Keep Running Into

Small talk requires performance. You can't just speak; you have to modulate your voice, arrange your face, and project appropriate interest. "Fine, thanks," has to sound like you mean it, even when you're tired, distracted, or just not in the mood. The words are secondary to the delivery.

The topics are repetitive by design. Weather, weekends, general wellness, these are safe precisely because they're shallow. But shallow means boring. And boring, repeated hundreds of times, becomes draining. You know exactly how the conversation will go before it starts.

There's also the calculation of how much to share. Too little seems cold. Too much violates the unwritten rules of casual exchange. Finding the right middle ground takes effort that adds up. Every interaction requires calibration.

The obligation feels constant. You can't opt out without seeming rude. The social tax applies whether you have energy to pay it or not. Being tired isn't an acceptable excuse for skipping the ritual.

How Modern Systems Created This

Small talk isn't new, but modern life has changed its context:

We interact with more strangers. Urban environments and service economies mean encountering dozens of people daily who require social acknowledgment. Each interaction is small, but they accumulate. The coffee shop, the gym, the office elevator, the grocery store, all demand their tribute.

Scripts have solidified. The responses are so standardized that they feel meaningless. "How are you?" stopped being a question long ago. The ritual continues, but the content has emptied out. Both participants know the lines; neither expects sincerity.

Authenticity expectations increased. We're told to "be genuine" and "bring your whole self" everywhere. But small talk is inherently not genuine. The gap between how we're supposed to interact and how we actually feel creates dissonance. You're performing casualness while feeling anything but casual.

Social energy is already spent. Managing digital communications, work interactions, and personal relationships consumes social bandwidth. By the time you reach the elevator chat, you're running on empty. The small talk isn't the first demand on your social energy; it's the latest in a long line.

The stakes feel higher. In professional settings, small talk becomes networking. The casual chat might affect your career. The pressure to make a good impression turns light conversation into performance anxiety.

Why It Keeps Getting Worse

Remote work and reduced in-person contact have made small talk feel less practiced. Skills that were automatic now require conscious effort. The rustiness makes it harder than it used to be. You've forgotten how to do something you never particularly wanted to do.

Social anxiety has become more openly discussed, making people more aware of the discomfort they feel. What once seemed like normal interaction now gets labeled and analyzed. Awareness doesn't always help. Sometimes naming the problem makes it more present.

The contrast with online communication makes in-person chat feel slow. Online, you can think before responding. In person, pauses are awkward. The speed of real-time conversation is more demanding. There's no editing, no delay, no chance to reconsider.

And the same conversations repeat endlessly. The same questions in every meeting, every encounter, every event. The lack of novelty makes engagement difficult to sustain. You know your lines too well.

Exhaustion from other sources compounds the problem. When you're already depleted from work, family, and the general weight of modern life, small talk becomes one demand too many. The straw that breaks the social camel's back.

How People Cope Today

Many people develop scripts. Standard answers, ready topics, reliable responses that reduce the mental load. The conversation becomes almost automated, which helps but feels hollow. You've optimized for efficiency at the cost of presence.

Some minimize opportunities for small talk. Headphones become shields. Taking stairs avoids elevator chat. Strategic timing prevents kitchen overlap. These avoidance strategies work but can isolate. The cure creates its own problems.

Others push past the small talk as quickly as possible, steering toward topics with actual substance. This takes social skill but leads to more satisfying interactions when it works. The goal is to get to the real conversation faster.

A few embrace the discomfort openly, acknowledging that small talk feels weird for everyone. This honesty sometimes creates genuine connection, ironically making the small talk worthwhile.

The exhaustion of small talk reflects a broader tension between social expectations and limited energy. We're expected to be available, friendly, and engaged in every interaction, but human capacity for social performance isn't infinite. The emptiness of casual conversation becomes more obvious as we have less energy to spare for it. The ritual persists because everyone expects it, even as everyone finds it draining.