Tag Archives: kindness

“Don’t talk to strangers”

Remember how, when you were a kid, your parents always told you: “Don’t talk to strangers.”  Was that good advice?

For kids, that has always been good advice.  When kids talk to strangers, they can get into all kinds of trouble.  But what about adults?

The Wall Street Journal has just highlighted a study that endorses talking to strangers.  When you’re an adult, that is.

Writer Elizabeth Bernstein noted some recently published research demonstrating that people actually like talking to strangers.  According to a study conducted by Gillian Sandstrom, a professor at the University of Sussex, talking with strangers can be a good thing.  “Small talk” with people you don’t know can actually soothe or support us when no one else is around.  Even conversations about boring topics, like the weather, can be more enjoyable than most of us expect.  They can boost our mood and help “broaden our perspective.”

How?

Because humans have a fundamental need to feel valued and part of a community, our mental and physical health can suffer when no one in our lives meet that need.  If we try talking to strangers, we may feel connected, putting us in a better mood.  It can also expose us to new information, about ourselves and about others.

Further, if you’re troubled by something in your life, it can be surprisingly helpful to talk to someone you don’t know.  Strangers can see things differently and be more objective.

According to Sandstrom’s research, we can change how we see other people and the world around us, encouraging us to be more trusting and increasing our perception that other people are kind and good.

Problem:  In 2005, researchers started tracking how many words people speak each day.  We are now speaking less—an average of 338 fewer words a day, adding up to about 120,000 fewer words a year.

Why?  Probably because we do so much today through a screen, ordering everything from coffee to shoes to medical prescriptions.  We get many of our choices delivered to us instead of getting them in a store or restaurant.  More people are also working from home, so they have fewer opportunities to talk to colleagues. This means fewer chances to share a laugh or get a recommendation or simply chat with other humans.

A lack of this kind of chitchat can mean a dearth of relationships that could turn into friendships or even romances.

Don’t worry about “boring” other people.  Research shows that even when people talk about boring topics, they enjoy the conversation anyway.  It’s the sharing and listening and being heard that make them feel better.

If you’re reluctant to talk to strangers, writer Bernstein promotes using an acronym that helps you get started:  QUICK.  QU stands for “question.”  You can ask someone “How’s it going?” or “Is there a good restaurant nearby?” 

IC stands for “in common.”  The weather is a topic we all have in common.  Talking about it is a good starting point.  And “K” stands for “kindness.”  You can try complimenting someone.  It gives you a reason to get some chitchat going.  (I hasten to advise you to stick to innocuous compliments.  Don’t get too personal.  Choose a compliment on something like a jacket or a sweater.) 

If the other person isn’t “willing to engage,” Bernstein recommends trying to talk to someone else.  I agree.  As A.I. encroaches further and further into our lives, human interaction is more important than ever.

I’m happy to admit that I often try to strike up conversations with strangers when I’m waiting in a line or sitting in an MD’s waiting room.  It can help pass the time, and it usually turns out well.

You might want to try it yourself sometime. 

By the way, “How’s it going?”

Happy Valentine’s Day? Maybe

 Much of the world celebrates today, February 14th, as Valentine’s Day.

Are you celebrating Valentine’s Day this year?  I’m wondering just who among us is.

If you’re one of the lucky ones who have a loving spouse or an ardent beau, you’re probably celebrating this year.

I was a member of that fortunate group during my loving marriage to my darling husband.  Our blissful marriage came to a halt only because a terrible disease ended my husband’s life.  I like to think that we’d still be celebrating our love today if he’d survived.

Since he died, I’ve had one or two romantic liaisons with others, but at this moment I’m in a different place.  Today my kids and grandkids are my primary givers and recipients of valentine cards and gifts, red and pink hearts splashed all over them.

Of course, today is a bonanza for some commercial enterprises.  Americans spent about $21 billion on Valentine’s Day in 2021, and experts predict that nearly $24 billion will be spent this year, making today the fifth largest spending event of the year (after the winter holidays and Mother’s Day).  Will inflation and supply-chain issues affect these totals?  Valentine’s Day is probably inflation-proof, and delightful gifts can always be tracked down.

Benefiting the most are florists (about $2.3 billion), purveyors of chocolates ($2.2 billion), jewelers ($6.2 billion), and sellers of other heart-emblazoned cards and gifts. 

Which raises another question.  Aside from elementary-school kids, required to bring a valentine for every other kid in class to avoid any Charlie-Brown-style left-out feelings, is anyone still buying valentine cards this year

I hope so.  I’d hate to see an end to the decades-long practice of sending sweet wishes to loved ones and friends on February 14th

While we’re still stuck in the middle of a pandemic, confronting scary international events, and facing ongoing political divisiveness, I find it heartening to recall happier, simpler times.

Today I’m thinking about an old friend and the valentines he gave me many years ago.

My friend (I’ll call him Alan R.) grew up with me on the Far North Side of Chicago.  We were in a pack of friends who attended the nearby elementary school.  This was back when all of us walked to school, walked home for lunch, and walked back to school again for the afternoon.

In 5th grade, I acquired a handsome “boyfriend.”  (Although we thought of each other as “boyfriend” and “girlfriend,” those terms simply meant that we had some sort of pre-teen crush on each other.)  My best friend Helene had a major crush on my boyfriend, but I was the lucky girl for whom he made a misshapen plastic pin when he went away to camp that summer.

By the fall, Alan R. had replaced him.

Alan was never one of the best-looking boys in our class.  He was tall for his age and somewhat awkward, and he tended to be rather hefty.  But he had a pleasant face and a pleasant way about him, and he became my 6th grade “boyfriend.”

In October that year, he invited a whole bunch of us to a Halloween party at his house.  Helene and I decided to don similar outfits—black t-shirts and skinny black skirts.  For some reason, we were trying to look like French “apache dancers.”  I wasn’t really sure what that term even meant, but I suspect that Helene’s savvy mother inspired us to choose that costume.  However it came about, we knew we looked terrific in our very cool garb.  We may have even added a beret to top it off.

Alan played the gracious host, and when the party wound down, he led us outside, and all of us paraded through the neighborhood, knocking on doors and yelling “trick or treat.”  It was a truly memorable Halloween, probably the most memorable Halloween of my childhood.

I don’t have a clear recollection of the next few months.  The days must have been filled with other parties, school events, and happy family outings.  But I definitely have a vivid memory of Valentine’s Day the following February.

When my classmates and I exchanged valentines, I discovered that Alan had given me two.  Not one.  Two.  And they weren’t the ordinary valentines you gave your friends.  These were store-bought pricier versions.  One was sentimental, flowery, and very sweet.  The other one was funny and made me laugh.

What exactly inspired Alan to show his affection for me that way?  We were fond of each other, but I don’t remember giving him a special valentine.

Looking back, I wonder about his decision to give me those two valentines.  Did he choose them by himself?  Did he have enough money saved from his 6th-grade-level allowance to pay for them?

As a mother, I can’t help wondering about the role his mother may have played.  Did she accompany him to the card store on Devon Avenue, the one where we all bought our valentines?  (A long-gone kind of neighborhood store most of us patronized back then.)  Was his mother standing next to him when he bought his valentines, offering her advice?  If she was, what did she think of this extravagance on his part?

I like to think that Alan came up with the idea and executed it all by himself.  He saved his money and brought it to the store with the firm intention to buy a valentine for me.  Then, when he saw the colorful display of cards in front of him, he couldn’t decide whether to show his affection with a flowery card or to try to make me laugh with a funny one.

So he bought one of each, and, head held high, he gave both of them to me. 

I hope I exhibited a response that pleased him.  I can’t remember exactly what I did.  But I know that his delightful gesture has stayed with me ever since.

Sadly, those valentines disappeared when my mother scoured our home one day and tossed everything she considered inconsequential.  But they weren’t inconsequential to me.  I still remember the thrill of receiving not one but two valentines from my caring beau.

Everything changed in 7th grade.  A new school, new boyfriends, and new issues at home when my father’s health grew worrisome.  As always, life moved on.

Alan R. died a few years ago, and I wrote this story about him then.  He and I had drifted apart long before he died, but his fondness for me during 6th grade never faded from my memory.

Did Alan’s flattering attention give me the confidence to deal with some of the rocky times that lay ahead?  Teenage years can be tough.  Mine often were.  But his two-valentine tribute stayed with me forever.

Thanks, dear Alan, for being a warm and caring young person, even at the age of 12.  Although our lives went on to have their rough patches, the valentines you gave me back in 6th grade have never been forgotten.