When ‘How Was Work?’ Goes Flat

In an Onedio Life report built around the psychotherapist’s advice, the issue is not that asking “How was work?” is wrong. Morin says there is nothing wrong with it. Her point is narrower, and sharper: when that is the question every evening, the conversation often stays at the level of small talk.

“We don’t talk anymore” is not usually a sentence about silence. It is often a sentence about repetition.

Morin’s alternatives are not dramatic prompts designed to force intimacy on command. They are modest questions that shift the tone of the exchange: what was the best part of your day, what was the hardest part, who are you grateful for, what are you looking forward to, what would feel good this evening, how can I make your life easier, what did you do well today.

What makes the list interesting is its preference for specifics over recap. Instead of inviting a generic work report, Morin pushes the conversation toward a bright spot, a difficult moment, a need, a hope, or a small act of recognition. In the Onedio excerpt, she also ties each question to a slightly different habit: optimism and gratitude, listening without reflexively giving advice, noticing resilience, sharing the load without keeping score.

Some of the strongest advice is the least ornate. If you ask about the worst part of the day, Morin says the best response is often just to listen. If you ask what would feel good that evening, the point is not to guess. If you offer help, she suggests being concrete rather than saying the polished but useless “let me know if you need anything.”

There is a quiet realism in that. After a long day, people do not always have the energy for a searching conversation, and Morin does not pretend otherwise. One of her questions is simply a way to stay connected when both people are tired and half-distracted at opposite ends of the couch.

The list does not promise transformation. It is advice about conversation, and it stays there. But it does make a fair complaint about routine: sometimes the flattest part of an evening is not the lack of words, but the predictability of them.