I call Stefan G Hofmann, director of the psychotherapy and emotion research laboratory at Boston University, who regularly coaches people through their fear of interacting with other people, among other phobias. It is then that I grasp the main hurdle: my fear of strangers. “I’ve worked here for three years,” he replies. “You’re new!” I say, confident that he has to reply because it’s part of his job. I walk up to an unfamiliar barista at a local cafe. I abort the bus mission.ĭeflated, I decide to go for some low-hanging fruit. I practise various opening lines about candy, but then the woman notices me staring at her phone and I feel as if she just caught me looking down her shirt. I keep turning my head towards the woman next to me, who is immersed in her phone, playing Candy Crush.
I take a seat on the upper deck with the other morning commuters. O n day one, I walk purposefully up to a woman at the bus stop at 8am. I decided to talk to as many strangers as I could for a month. If that’s what had come of a six-hour flight, how much was I missing by ignoring the dozens, if not hundreds, of strangers I saw every day? Was I missing out on life-changing recipes, birthday parties and sympathetic shoulders to cry on? I sit behind a child and grandmother playing 20 questions I pet dogs and pretend it’s an excuse to talk to their owners. By the time we touched down at Heathrow, one had invited the other to his birthday party that Friday. Pretty soon, they were exchanging barbecue recipes, then pouring out their souls and showing each other pictures on their phones.
And it seemed to work, because they turned to each other instead. I immediately put on my headphones and stared straight ahead.
Then I forgot about it for years, until I read an article citing surprising research apparently, when people are forced to talk to strangers, it makes them happier.Īround that time, on a flight from New York, I found myself in a three-person row with two men. It had occurred to me that “chatty tourist” would be a great Halloween costume with which to frighten Londoners. Intrigued, I actually kept one of those I Talk To Strangers badges, though. Sure, I’ll shove my face into your armpit, but talk to you? It’s just not done. During rush hour, we all stand squashed on public transport, essentially spooning, in total silence. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. For me, talking to strangers is something you do as a last resort: lost in an unfamiliar neighbourhood, dead phone, broken leg, typhoon – and only if these things happen all at once.
0 kommentar(er)
