Stranger things have happened: A chance encounter could be a risk with a big payoff
I used to limit discussions with strangers to transactional matters. Over-the-counter chit-chat, over-sharing people in public places, and worst of all, overly-flirtatious men, all made me uncomfortable, and I would avert my eyes and scurry away. It was partly a matter of shyness, but that shyness was also a shield, hiding the judgmental side of me that wanted to be selective about where I spread my attention.
I didn’t want to be friends with just anyone. I wanted a chance to observe and vet to determine if they fit the mold of those I called, “friend.”
That’s not to say I was stuck-up. In high school, I predestined myself by assuming the “popular kids” would not want me as part of their group, so I found my way to a less-defined group. No blanket term applied: Some of us were nerdy or artsy or smart. Perhaps the best way to define the group was that there was not a single football player among us.
I continued to select my buddies from the usual friendship incubators: college classes, workplaces, mom and church groups, writing meetups, and extended circles filled with friends-of-friends. We were pre-sorted by various criteria and put together on a regular basis. I could observe others in various situations and interact on a limited basis before daring to use the most powerful “f” word: “friend.”
It was only when I was alone that I opened myself up to exploring chance encounters, and I was never really alone until my first husband and I moved to Philadelphia for his work. And then he decided to leave. The low point in my life coincided with being very much alone.
The kindness of strangers took on a new light. When I backed my old SUV into a woman’s fancy Volvo, I hopped out in a panic. She rubbed the visible mark and kindly told me not to worry. “It will buff out,” she said with a shrug.
On my 30 minute commuter train ride to and from work, I began to look up from my book to see the people I rode with every day. I noticed some of them smiled or waved in recognition. New coworkers and neighbors, who I barely knew, invited me to dinner, checked in on me and accepted me for the hot mess that I was at that time.
It was a period of sonder, when I realized that the world is full of warm, kind people, and I will never be lucky enough to meet and get to know the many who could become fast friends, in one way or another. I allowed myself to experience gifts that come from random friendliness and kindness. I realized the world is full of friends we haven’t met yet.
It’s easiest to curate friendships based on commonalities. Interests, the ages of our kids, and sometimes mere convenience all grease the path to friendship.
With my dance card full, I have no need to entertain wildcard conversations with random strangers. It is a place of privilege to never feel the need to risk a chance on a random conversation. But retreating into privilege can be a hindrance. We miss zesty encounters. Associating with only those who fit a certain mold robs us of the opportunity to learn that our own mold may not be as rigid as we think.
Opening up to a stranger in even small ways can feel vulnerable and weird. It’s unpredictable and requires scrutiny in the name of safety. But the more people I meet, the more I’ve learned that most people bring something interesting, wise or fun to the table. Chance encounters are certainly wildcards, but sometimes you cash in when you give a wildcard a chance.
Emily Parnell lives with her family in Overland Park.
