What do women do when they get together? We sit around and talk!

The words of Jenna McCarthy, “What do women do when they get together? We sit around and talk! Men, not so much. My theory is that this difference is genetic and dates back to the hunter-gatherer societies, when the men had to be quiet as they hunted, lest they scare away the bison and then everyone starved to death and it was all their fault,” carry within them a truth wrapped in humor — a reflection of the ancient dance between man and woman, shaped by the long memory of evolution. Though spoken lightly, these words touch a deep current in the river of human history: that the ways of men and women are not born merely from choice, but from the ancient rhythms of survival, written into our very being.

In the time before cities, before books or kings, the earth was our home and the sky our ceiling. Humanity lived by the laws of nature, and every act — every sound, every silence — had consequence. The men, who hunted the great beasts, learned the virtue of stillness. A single careless shout could scatter the herd and doom the tribe to hunger. From that silence grew a language of watchfulness and action, of eyes and hands rather than words. The women, meanwhile, remained close to the hearth, gathering roots, raising children, weaving stories to bind the tribe together. In their words lived connection — the power to teach, to comfort, to remember. Thus, across the millennia, silence became the tool of survival for one, and speech the lifeline of community for the other.

McCarthy’s theory, spoken with laughter, carries this ancestral wisdom in its bones. It is the humor of understanding that what we call “differences” are often echoes of the ancient past. Modern life may dress us in new clothes and surround us with glowing screens, yet the soul still remembers its origins. Men and women, though they walk side by side, often see the world through the eyes of their ancestors — one attuned to quiet vigilance, the other to nurturing connection. Neither is lesser, for both are sacred halves of the same design.

There is, however, more than anthropology in her jest. Beneath the smile lies a truth about the nature of communication itself. When women “sit around and talk,” they are continuing one of humanity’s oldest rituals — the act of weaving understanding through words. Through conversation, women create community, healing, and shared wisdom. Their speech is not idle; it is a thread that binds hearts. Men, who learned silence in the hunt, often express care through deed rather than word. In this way, the human spirit holds both — the language of speech and the language of action — and both are needed to sustain life’s harmony.

History, too, bears witness to this balance. Think of Penelope, wife of Odysseus, who, while her husband faced storms and monsters, wove and un-wove her tapestry each night, a silent act rich in meaning. Her patience was as powerful as his adventure, her quiet endurance as noble as his loud heroism. In her speech and craft, she preserved the home that he longed to return to. The hunters may have brought food, but the gatherers preserved memory, compassion, and civilization itself. The silence of one and the speech of the other were not opposites — they were partners in the survival of the human story.

Thus, McCarthy’s humor becomes a mirror through which we glimpse the beauty of difference. The quiet strength of men and the flowing conversation of women are not causes for division, but proof of balance — of yin and yang, of sun and moon, each shining in its own way. The ancient hunters needed silence; the ancient gatherers needed communion. Together, they built the continuity of life. And even now, though the bison have vanished and the hunt has changed, the same instincts guide us: men, steady in silence; women, radiant in connection; both necessary, both complete.

So, my child of the modern age, take this lesson to heart: do not mock the differences between man and woman — understand them. For they are not weaknesses, but ancient strengths. When you speak, do so with the grace of those who gathered; when you listen, do so with the focus of those who hunted. In this way, you will balance word and silence, expression and reflection. The world needs both — the voice that brings warmth to the hearth, and the silence that steadies the heart.

And as you walk among others, remember McCarthy’s lighthearted wisdom: our ways, though sometimes misunderstood, are echoes of the ancestors. To honor them is to live with awareness — to speak when it brings unity, to be silent when it brings peace, and to remember that in every laugh, every story, every quiet gaze, the ancient harmony of human nature still lives on.