Stranger Danger?

It might be an unpopular opinion, but I love interactions with strangers.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, my friends would cringe if I struck up a conversation with someone we didn’t know. I could practically feel their eyes rolling as I chatted away to a stranger about goodness knows what. Surprisingly, I am not an extravert. Social interactions tend to require maximum effort on my part. It might sound strange, but I’d much rather chat to a solitary stranger than be among a large group of acquaintances.

Last Friday, I flew from Whitehorse to Vancouver. As I walked through the front doors of the minuscule Whitehorse Airport, so too did a group of about twenty elderly tour bus passengers. They shuffled through the doors, thanking the driver and guide for their services, sharing things like, “We’ll be back!” and “If I was 20 years younger, I’d move here!”. I overheard chatter about Kluane Lake and Skagway, flights to Whitehorse, accommodation and meals. One couple with visible mobility issues was assisted into the building by a Yukon Tour Bus employee who helped the man with his jacket and kindly explained the ins and outs of e-tickets to the couple. I marvelled at her patience, but mostly at her kindness.

I’ve always felt that when you step foot in an airport, you enter into a kind of collective with your fellow passengers. Together, you wait in lineups, board the plane, share an armrest, drink watery coffee, and watch the baggage come down the carousel. So, I was happy when one of the tour bus passengers, an older woman from Ottawa, turned to speak to me while we waiting to pass through security.

I didn’t learn the woman’s name, but I did learn that she was travelling alone and had met a new friend. I learned that she’d kept up with her driving during the lockdowns so as not to lose practice. I shared about our journey to get groceries, about C, and about Chilli. We talked about the cost of living, and she told me about her husband of 50 years. From a purely utilitarian perspective, the conversation helped pass the time, but, more than that, it was a connection between two strangers. It was lovely.

Once on the plane, I sat across the aisle from a woman around my age and an elderly man who’d been a passenger on the tour bus. Shortly after the plane took off, I saw that the woman was crying. Silent tears. When the flight attendants came around with refreshments, they indicated that the man was entitled to an alcoholic beverage. He declined and offered the drink to someone in our row. The man next to me graciously accepted the “bevy”. That act of kindness served as the impetus for a conversation between the elderly man and the woman next to him. They chatted for nearly the whole flight and just before landing, I overhead the woman sharing that she’d had a bad day, but that their conversation had caused it to improve.

In an increasingly disconnected world, interactions with strangers can be very special. They provide an opportunity to learn about others and this seems particularly important now when the collective focus seems firmly planted on oneself. Beyond that, intergenerational conversations with strangers allow us insight into demographic groups we might not regularly connect with. There’s a kind of hopefulness in conversations between strangers, and the impact can be long-lasting. I remember being complimented by a bus driver for my radical haircut (I had a shaved head in grade 11). I remember sharing the woes of cancelled flights with two fellow travellers in Paris. We went to the Eiffel Tower together the next day and kept in touch for years after. I stayed with one of them at their home in Oslo. We watched Marley and Me. I remember the French cyclists C and I met close to our home in Beaver Creek. They stayed with us and then, when they passed through Vancouver about a month later, with my parents for five days. I remember the heartwarming moments, and the glimpses into strangers’ lives. I remember conversations from years ago. These things have stuck with me and, I think, made me feel better about humanity as a whole.

So, why not? Why not say the nice thing you’re thinking out loud? Why not ask if you can help with a heavy grocery load? Why not ask the follow up question when someone says their day isn’t going all that well? Why not?