When I was an adolescent, time spent with my first girlfriend – a title very quickly rescinded – was as exhilarating as it was onerous. The cause of the former was straightforward, but that of the latter was specific to that juncture in my life: I felt that a beat of dead air was a solemn mark against me, and every moment must be filled with witty and memorable words. Before our meetings, I would tabulate, sometimes physically putting to paper, all the interesting, intriguing, titillating things I could mention. I treated hanging out like a state examination. You can imagine why she lunged at the first opportunity to become an ex.

But we remained – and remain – close friends, and some time after our ill-starred relationship ended, something indelible happened: we had our first real silence. Late in a balmy summer night, conversation extinguished itself and, for some reason, nothing else was said. I’ve had a lot of beautiful silences since then, but it remains the most poignant.

I was reminded of this experience by Emil Cioran, the brooding and sardonic Romanian French philosopher, who was actually capable of stringing together witty and memorable words. ‘True contact between beings,’ he wrote, ‘is established only by mute presence, by apparent non-communication, by that mysterious and wordless exchange which resembles inward prayer.’

Silences between people, of course, have all sorts of meanings, and Cioran is far from the only philosopher to write about silence. But here he incomparably evokes the strange intimacy that inheres in the best kinds of silence. Perhaps the next time you are fortunate enough to inhabit this kind of silence with someone important to you, you’ll think of ‘true contact’.

One of my favourite walking routes though London goes from Waterloo Bridge to the London Eye, across the Thames to Big Ben, up Whitehall, and on to Soho for much-needed refreshment. But this spring, when a friend was visiting me from the United States, something happened on that familiar walk that made me see my home city with fresh eyes.

At a crossing by Trafalgar Square, she stopped in her tracks, though the lights were green. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to the light flashing, not with the usual walking man, but with two female symbols, intertwined. ‘Oh that,’ I said shrugging. ‘The gay traffic lights of London.’ They’d gone up years ago, for the annual Pride Festival, and were so popular, they’d stayed – a little like my friend and I, who had a blast running back and forth between crossings so she could photograph all the LGBTQ+ symbols. Though she lives in San Francisco with her wife, these lights tickled her pink – and now they had the same effect on me.

This is an example of what the social psychologist Clayton Critcher at the University of California, Berkley calls the ‘vicarious construal effect’. By seeing an experience through someone else’s eyes, you can capture a feeling you’ve lost – or one you never even had. In an interview, Critcher said: ‘Simply trying to think about what someone else might see actually changes the way we see and interpret what we’re doing, changes the emotions we feel.’

This effect works whether rediscovering your hometown or more fully understanding another’s lived experience. So next time you notice yourself becoming oblivious to the place where you live, try to see it through the eyes of a visitor. Or better still, invite one over and share their perspective.

Occasionally, I have what feels like an extraordinarily talkative day, loaded with meetings, calls or friendly chatter. Maybe you can relate. It seems natural enough to wonder, then: what’s an ‘ordinary’ amount of talk?

If you look up how many words we speak per day, you’ll find varying estimates online. Often, they’re linked to gender – specifically, whether it’s true that women talk more than men. A widely cited 2007 study of university students suggested not.

However: scientists recently published an update based on a more diverse sample of talkers. Their data comes from previous studies in which people of various ages – in the United States, Australia, Serbia and Switzerland – were audio-recorded as they went about their days. On the whole, they found that women (at an estimated 13,349 words per day) did tend to speak more than men (11,950), on average. The evidence was ‘conclusive’ only for adults aged 25 to 64 (women: 21,845 words per day; men: 18,570).

It’s tempting to mention this finding to my wife and our couple friends to see what sort of debates (or nods of recognition) ensue. But another key finding is huge variation, regardless of gender: one man produced fewer than 100 words per day, some people more than 120,000; the overall average was around 13,000. This makes me wonder where I’d fall on the wide spectrum between mime and telemarketer. Short of my own personal electronically activated recorder (or EAR) study, I’ll never know for sure.

Finally, with eyes affixed to our screens, we might wonder if people do less actual talking than they used to. Well, for each year that passed between 2005 and 2018, study participants spoke about 300 fewer words per day. If that finding holds up, it could mean we’ve shed thousands of words per day in recent years.