My Black is NOT Cracking.

I would always meet new people when I went out solo.

Which I did often.

Of course, this was back when going out alone did not mean sitting alone while communicating with 847 people you weren’t actually with.

This was also before cell phones became an extension of our hands.

Back then, you actually talked to strangers. At least I did.

I know. Crazy.

You sat at a bar. You waited for your table. Or like me, you preferred eating at the bar. You stood in line. You sat next to someone on a plane. You struck up a conversation with the person sitting beside you. Sometimes it was a five-minute conversation. Sometimes it lasted the entire evening. Occasionally, you made a friend.

And for me, once I started writing, strangers became one of my favorite sources of material.

People are fascinating when they’re not annoying the hell out of me.

Give me a crowded restaurant or an outdoor table on a NYC street, and I don’t need television. I have everything I need.

A conversation overheard at the next table. The couple arguing quietly but aggressively over who forgot to make the reservation. The woman telling her friend about the man she absolutely should not be dating but clearly is. The guy at the bar who has somehow managed to explain cryptocurrency, his divorce and the stock market to a complete stranger before his second drink.

You can’t make this s*#t up.

Well, apparently you can. That’s what social media is for.

I went out to dinner recently. The bar was full, which is where I prefer to eat when dining solo, so I was forced to sit at what was actually a communal table by the window.

Communal.

That’s an optimistic word.

At least I could people-watch because there was absolutely zero communing.

At first, it was just me and another woman at the table. She never took her eyes off her phone.

Never.

She occasionally picked up her fork and scrolled with one hand, which I suppose qualifies as multitasking if your goal is to eat dinner while completely avoiding the possibility of human interaction. And I get that.  Sometimes it is intentional.  Other times, just part of the addiction.

I looked around the bar.

Phone.

Phone.

Phone.

Phone.

A few people were actually sitting with friends, but even some of them were talking to the person in their hand instead of the person sitting across from them.

And it got me thinking about how different things used to be. When I went out alone, I was rarely alone for long. Someone would make a comment about the food. I’d ask the bartender a question. Someone would ask what I was reading. I’d inquire about someone else’s dish. We’d start talking.

It wasn’t complicated.

There wasn’t an app involved.

There was no algorithm deciding who I should meet.

There was just another human being less than two feet away.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes I don’t want to talk to anyone. That is where the book you pretend to read comes in.

Ah. The book. My favorite prop.

There is something very liberating about sitting alone with a book. It says, I am perfectly comfortable being here by myself and I may or may not want to talk to you.

The book is basically a “Do Not Disturb” sign with better public relations.

But mostly, I enjoy talking to strangers. Of course, it only takes me a few sentences to determine if this was a terrible idea.

There are some people you meet and immediately think, Oh, damn, this is going to be interesting.

And then there are the people who make you think, Well, this is seven minutes of my life I’m never getting back.

One of the advantages of getting older is that you get pretty good at figuring out which is which in a very short time.

We have less time to waste.

And frankly, we have less tolerance for bullshit. But I still believe in the value of the conversation.

Especially now.

Maybe more than ever.

Because I think one of the reasons we are having some of the problems we’re experiencing in the world is that we don’t talk to strangers anymore.

We talk to people who already agree with us. We follow people who think like us. We read things that confirm what we already believe.

We live inside our carefully curated bubbles, surrounded by people and information that make us feel comfortable. And then we act surprised when we can’t understand anyone outside of them.

Maybe we need to get uncomfortable again. Not dangerous uncomfortable.

Just human uncomfortable.

Sit next to someone you don’t know. Ask a question. Listen to the answer. Not while waiting for your turn to tell them what you think.

Actually listen.

You might disagree.

You might learn something.

You might discover that the person you assumed you had absolutely nothing in common with has lived a life remarkably similar to yours.

Or you might discover they’re completely nuts. (In which case you might want to relocate!)

That’s information too.

And there is another reason I still like talking to strangers.

You never know who you’re going to meet. You never know what story is sitting beside you. You never know who the universe sent to sit at the next table.

It could be someone who makes you laugh.

Someone who teaches you something.

Someone who introduces you to someone else.

Someone who becomes a friend.

Someone who gives you the idea for your next story.

Or someone who simply reminds you that there are still interesting people in the world.

You just have to look up.

Which may be the hardest part. Because apparently, looking up is now an advanced social skill.

I left my phone in my bag and just looked around. I looked for someone to make eye contact so I could say hello.  Not in a stalker way!

It didn’t happen, but that’s okay. Maybe next time.

I’m still curious enough to see what happens next. Stay curious. Stay engaged.

Third Act Truth:
You never know who you’re going to meet when you stop looking at your screen and start looking at the people around you.