Rule #14

George Washington’s fourteenth rule of civility reads:

Turn not your back to others especially in speaking, jog not the table or desk on which another reads or writes; lean not upon any one.

So… this sounds kinda strange, but practical. Doesn’t it?

Almost logistical.

Face people when you talk.

Don’t shake the table.

Don’t lean on someone like they’re a piece of furniture.

Simple enough.

And yet, like so many of these rules, the more you sit with it, the more it opens into something deeper.

Because Rule #14 isn’t really about posture or furniture etiquette. It’s about how our presence interacts with other people’s presence.

From Being Present… to Not Disrupting Presence

If the previous rules have been guiding us toward being present, in our bodies, in our attention, in our words, this one adds an important layer in my opinion…

Once you’re present… don’t interfere with someone else’s ability to be.

Rule #10: sit like you mean to be here.

Rule #11: settle into yourself.

Rule #12: speak with awareness.

Rule #13: protect dignity.

And now, Rule #14: are you allowing others to exist comfortable beside you?

Turning Your Back Isn’t Just Physical

Let’s start with the first line:

Turn not your back to others especially in speaking.

On the surface, it’s obvious… don’t physically turn away from someone while talking to them.

But in modern life, we do this all the time.

Not with our bodies necessarily… but with our attention.

We “turn our backs” when we:

• Look at our phones mid-conversation

• respond while half-watching something else

• mentally check out while someone is speaking

• give short, distracted responses instead of real engagement

Our bodies may still be facing forward.

But our presence has already turned away.

And people feel that.

They feel the shift from, “I’m here with you,” to “I’m here… but not really.”

The Table Still Gets Shaken

The next line:

Jog not the table or desk on which another reads or writes.

Again, very literal.

Don’t bump the table when someone is focused. But translate it, and it becomes incredibly relevant: Don’t disrupt someone’s concentration unnecessarily.

Today, we “jog the table” in more subtle ways:

• Interrupting someone mid-thought

• pulling them out of focus for something trivial

• expecting immediate responses to messages

• inserting ourselves into someone else’s mental space without pause

We’ve become used to constant access. But access isn’t the same as permission.

And focus - real, deep focus, is something people rarely get to protect anymore. Rule #14 quietly defends it.

“Lean Not Upon Any One” (Boundaries. Plain and Simple.)

And then there’s that line… “lean not upon any one.”

At first, it sounds purely physical. Don’t physically rest your weight on another person.

But it’s hard not to hear a deeper meaning here.

Sometimes we lean:

• emotionally

• conversationally

• mentally

We rely on others to:

• carry our attention

• fill silence

• regulate our feelings

• hold conversations we’re not fully participating in

There’s nothing wrong with support. It’s important. It’s kindness in action. It’s love.

We need each other.

But there’s a difference between connection and unconscious dependence.

Rule #14 gently reminds us:

Stand in your own presence. Don’t unconsciously place the weight of it on someone else.

Modern Disconnection, Disguised as Normal

One of the reasons this rule feels so relevant is that many of the behaviours it addresses have become… normal.

We’ve normalized:

• Half-listening

• multitasking during conversations

• constant interruption through devices

• casual instruction into others’ time and attention

And because it’s common, it’s easy to miss the impact.

But these small disruptions accumulate.

They create conversations that feel thinner.

Connections that feel weaker.

Moments that feel… slightly off.

Not broken. Just… less present than they could be.

A Moment I Couldn’t Unsee

I recently witnessed something that stayed with me far longer than expected. And actually, it stayed with my mom too.

We were sitting at a table with family members, having one of those easy, ongoing conversations where everyone contributes a little, and the thread moves naturally from one person to the next.

At one point, someone shared something, and my mom responded, picking up the thread, continuing the conversation in that quiet, thoughtful way she does.

And then it happened.

The person who had spoken just before her picked up their phone.

Not in a quick, absent-minded way, but with intention. Like whatever was on that screen had suddenly taken priority.

I watched my mom shift, just slightly. It was subtle, the kind of movement you might miss if you weren’t paying attention (like some people). But I saw it. A small adjustment. A flicker of discomfort.

Still, she kept talking.

We both glanced over, almost instinctively, as if expecting the same thing, they’ll put it down in a second. They’ll rejoin.

But they didn;t.

In fact, they turned to the other person beside them and began whispering, quietly, but clearly, about whatever had drawn them into their phone in the first place.

And just like that, it wasn’t just disengagement.

It was disruption.

One person had stepped out of the conversation.

And then, without really thinking about it, pulled someone else out with them.

Meanwhile, my mom was still speaking. Still offering her thoughts. Still trying to hold her place in the conversation.

But something had shifted.

You could feel it.

The thread had been broken.

The space had been fractured.

And what struck me most wasn’t anger, but was the quiet discomfort of it all. The kind that doesn’t call attention to itself, but lingers.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… unbelievably rude in a very ordinary way.

The kind of moment that makes you realize how little it takes to make someone feel like they don’t quite matter in the space anymore.

Respecting Space Is Respecting People

Too often I walk into spaces, or am immersed in spaces, and everyone in it seems to think and behave as though it’s theirs and theirs alone. But…

All people need space to exist. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And the way we move, speak, and show up either supports that space, or quietly disrupts it.

Respect doesn’t always look like grand gestures. 

Sometimes it looks like:

• facing someone fully when they speak

• not interrupting their focus

• giving them room to think

• holding your own weight in the interaction

It’s subtle. But it’s felt.

The Next Layer of Presence

If we follow the thread through these rules, something becomes clear.

Presence isn’t just about you.

It’s about:

• how you show up

• how you participate

• how you protect

• and now… how you coexist

Rule #14 is the first on that really asks:

Are you making it easier, or harder, for others to be present too?

A Quiet Closing Thought

There’s something deeply respectful about being someone who:

• faces others when they speak

• doesn’t interrupt unnecessarily 

• doesn’t demand constant access

• doesn’t lean without awareness

It creates a kind of calm around you.

A sense that being in your presence feels… easy.

Not because you’re doing less. But because you’re doing something very intentional:

You’re allowing others to exist fully beside you.

And in a world where attention is constantly pulled, shared, and interrupted…

that might be one of the most generous forms of civility we can offer.

Ⓒ April 2026. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.