Good with Strangers

stranger danger doesn't exist as an adult

When I worked in community housing with a bunch of young socialist twenty-somethings, I was introduced to the concept of small talk as a means of creating community wellbeing.

My friend Josh made all of these beautiful posters based on John Snyder’s 20 Lessons from the 20th Century. In the early 1900s, few people were aware of the ways the world was shifting away from democracy and towards authoritarian dictatorships. So too, did my early 2000s childhood feel simple and free, while slowly, through our worship of money, fear equality, fear of anything other than whiteness, fear of queerness, etc., we have found ourselves in a world ruled by angry, selfish men once again. Men willing to make scapegoats out of people in need, and who turn us against one another while continuing to line their pockets. Every day my heart cries for some great butter knife in the sky to smear them and their wealth across the world til we’re a nice, even mush.

The 12th of Snyder’s lessons struck me when I saw it tacked to the wall around Josh’s desk, surrounded by the beautiful swirls and colours Josh adorns our world with:

MAKE EYE CONTACT AND SMALL TALK: This is not just polite, it is part of being a citizen and a responsible member of society. It is a way to stay in touch with your surroundings, break down social barriers, and understand whom you should and should not trust. If we enter a culture of denunciation, you will want to know the psychological landscape of your daily life.

As I have become an adult and found my ways to cope with this world that is so different than what I had expected, I have found myself wrecked with fear. I am afraid of these angry men, I am afraid of my childhood friend who posts nonstop about crypto and Alberta separation instead of his wife and baby, I am afraid of men who look like him walking on the street, I am afraid of Cybertrucks. These fears don’t even crack my list of Top 10 Terrible Fears, and yet they bend my guts each day into a horrible knot of dread.

This fear has compounded upon itself, and even though people call me “friendly” and an “extrovert” I am realizing I am more scared of strangers than I’ve ever been. People at the bus stop, people sitting next to me in the park, customers at work—Who knows what they might do or say to me? What if they voted for him? What if they hate the “Protect Trans Folks” sticker on my water bottle? Or the kind of bag I’m carrying? Sometimes I can feel their fear towards me radiating off of them as well.

an image i had on my tumblr forever, i can’t find the name of who took it

Though I think part of this fear is rooted in some ignorance and ways that neoliberalism and the left have taught me to make in and out groups of my own, I do think that most of my fear is attached to grief. I think the fear I really have of people, is of knowing that they are just like me, suffering in their own ways that I have or haven’t endured myself. Each of us has an immensity that overwhelms me.

Despite this, I believe in connection, and try to make small talk as an act of resistance against staring at our cellphones, and against my own fear of knowing people have lives just as complex as my own. My favourite way to connect with a stranger these days is to just be aware enough to look them in the eyes and nod or smile as I pass. This diffuses the fear in me, and opens me up to being able to start some sort of conversation. I usually try to offer a compliment before asking questions-- "Your dog is so friendly! How old is she?," "That looks like a nice cup of coffee, where did you get it?"

I think what John Snyder’s lesson about eye contact and small talk teaches me, is that its easy to make connections in order to feel safer in your space, and that it’s absolutely essential to do it, even to know who you disagree with and how.

On the rare occasion (like a family birthday or something) I find myself in close proximity to people who hold worldviews that I think are dangerous and that hurt people I love and care about. I used to think that these people were outside of my reach, because I would push them outside by screaming at them online, or in the cafeteria at Ambrose—picture me at 19, wasting my prime crying in the faces of boys named Steven about why women should be pastors. All this has left me with is a few less friends and Instagram followers who have withstood my departure from the church and the conservative antithetical-to-Jesus thoughts that I was taught as a part of it. I was trying to love my neighbours as I loved myself—and that meant loving all of the people and pieces of myself that I never saw in my own church congregations.