I do. It’s a learned behavior, mostly. My mother consulted her fellow shoppers in the produce section, and struck up friendly conversations while waiting in line at the bank. I was embarrassed then, but now I’m doing it.
It’s not a conscious choice. The words are out of my mouth before I know I’m going to say them. ”Pretty flowers,” I said to the woman walking out of Fred Meyer today as I was walking in. She paused, and ran her fingers gently over their pastel faces. ”I really like this kind,” she said.
It was a connection, in a disconnected world. And that’s the other reason why I talk to strangers.
How else would strangers become friends? I talk to people I don’t know all the time — wherever there’s waiting, as I browse alongside at the library, the park, the street, the parking lot. Each connection made is a joyful blessing to the day.
Sometimes walled off and separate feels like safety, while openness and connection feel vulnerable and exposed. But there’s also a strength that comes from forging connections, however brief, and that strength is what you & I choose in the library, the park, the street, the parking lot.
Glad to meet you, Naomi. Thanks for stopping by.