Talking To Strangers

I love this short piece by Melissa Kirsch from yesterday's New York Times Morning newsletter which speaks to the idea of being open to the world around you, the transformative power of saying "yes"(this echoes her past article about saying yes to things that come your way, seen here) and being accepting. I try to do this in certain social settings ... it usually ends up being fun for everyone.

Public offering

By Melissa Kirsch

The Morning
May 2, 2026

I went to hear some live music by myself a couple of weeks ago. There were a handful of other people in the small performance space when I arrived, mostly in small groups. I was considering taking out my phone, a habit I try to resist when I’m unoccupied in public, when a man walked up to me and a person standing nearby and said something to the effect of, “We’re all here solo, so we should talk to one another.” I was surprised and charmed by his extroversion. I had assumed I’d have to mill about awkwardly until the show began, the tax one pays for going out alone. But this guy, whose name we quickly learned was Stefan, had treated the barroom as if it were a party he was hosting, or at least a party at which he was determined to not be bored. The three of us chatted as the place filled up, strangers with a common interest in a musician, which was enough of a connection to pleasantly fill a half-hour.

It has become very easy to avoid talking to strangers. Noise-canceling headphones, internet shopping, self-checkout lines and, when all else fails, our phones — taken out at a bar, a party, a concert — insulate us against humanity’s intrusion. It’s not all terrible: I recently made a doctor’s appointment via consultation with my medical practice’s “virtual assistant” and it was refreshingly frictionless. In a city, headphones are indispensable for boundary setting; they send a signal that one is not to be bothered. But when not interacting becomes the default, our social muscles atrophy.

“Far from random human inconveniences, strangers are actually one of the richest and most important resources we have,” the journalist David Sax wrote in a guest essay for Times Opinion a few years ago. “They connect us to the community, teach us empathy, build civility and are full of surprise and potentially wonder.”

“Full of surprise and potentially wonder”! Why would we spurn such marvels? “Well,” my antisocial alter ego counters, “strangers are also unpredictable, possibly uninterested in us and sometimes boring.” All true. Is this why I, a person who’s hardly shy, would hesitate to corral the awkward solo concert attendees into conversation? There’s always the risk of rejection, and the risk that I’d feel a responsibility to keep the conversation going even if the people I approached weren’t talkative, a social burden I’d regret. But I was so grateful to Stefan: What a gesture of generosity to extend himself, to relieve others of the awkwardness of standing alone in a space where others are socializing. I try to be this kind of person, the one who breaks the silence, the one who can extend herself, but I’m not always able to silence that alter ego.

I asked Stefan if he’s always “that guy,” the self-appointed social ringleader, the outgoing one who coaxes the wallflowers into the mix. “I’ve come to believe that people simply want fun and interesting things to happen to them,” he said. Why wouldn’t they be receptive to him?

Most of us are thinking about ourselves, about the potential embarrassment that would arise from making an overture to a stranger. Stefan’s thinking about other people, what they expect or desire from a night out, and he’s doing his part to make that a reality. “Engagement with strangers is at the core of our social contract,” Sax wrote in his guest essay. Contracts are agreements: I will do my part and you will do yours; it’s in both of our best interests. The social contract doesn’t explicitly say we have to give other people a good time (or, it might — I haven’t seen an official copy), but it does stipulate that we consider one another and the type of society we want to create.

Sometimes when I’m feeling alienated from the human race, or baffled by the actions of another, I remind myself that every single person wants to be loved. This isn’t a particularly rigorous thought about human psychology, but rather something that seems broadly true. It’s an easily accessed plot of common ground, a starting place for understanding motivations that seem inscrutable. This reminder doesn’t mean I have to love everyone, but it makes their decisions a bit more legible. If I add that everyone wants fun and interesting things to happen to them, me included, I might be more likely to start the conversation with strangers. If we all see it as our contractual duty to generate fun when the opportunity presents itself (and if we can overcome our shyness), then we significantly increase the odds that fun will ensue. And if others don’t hold up their end of the bargain? Then, as Stefan rationalizes, your attempt “gives you a good story to tell your friends.”

Link to original article:
https://www.nytimes.com/2026/05/02/briefing/public-offering.html

Just Say Yes!

This inspiring piece from journalist Melissa Kirsch appeared this weekend in The New York Times' The Morning newsletter. It speaks to an approach to life that can be uplifting. It recalls for me a tenet of improv acting from my theatre-training days and that is to always respond to anything coming at you with "Yes, and..."

Offer accepted

By Melissa Kirsch

This past week, true to my vow to continue engaging in summer activities until the equinox, I picked raspberries and flowers at a farm under the impossibly clear September sky. I was joined by my friend Aliza. I knew Aliza would be up for the outing because she operates on a policy that dictates if something is “on offer,” you should avail yourself of it. Of course, berry picking is not a hard sell. But I’ve been observing the way decision-making becomes simpler if you default to accepting what’s on offer: taking the slice of pie, staying out just a bit later, stopping at the strange little fair you happened to drive past. All tiny things one could easily decline, all things with potential for pleasure.

We spend a lot of time hemming and hawing, coming up with reasons we shouldn’t do things, even things that fall under the rubric of “Things We’d Probably Enjoy.” We decide not to try the dance class, afraid of looking foolish. We skip the picnic because we don’t know any of the people going. We consider the downsides and decide to stick with what’s familiar.

As much as I try to be a “yes person,” I have an unfortunate talent for turning opportunities into obligations. “It’s on offer” is such a gentle (and British) way of considering what’s available. I might decide I am, in fact, too tired or not interested in whatever’s on offer, but I’m examining the opportunity as an option, a gift, an offering — not viewing it as a problem.

“I think it’s a protection against regret, or too much judgment — often my go-to feelings,” Aliza said when I asked her about her position. She reminded me of a day this summer when we were wandering around a town we’d never been and came upon a run-down winery. A guy with a guitar was belting some off-key Jimmy Buffett covers on the patio. Should we stop and try some suspiciously inexpensive rosé? It was on offer! The wine was not great, but that wasn’t the point. By taking what was on offer, we took a departure. What could have been an otherwise unmemorable day was made indelible.

One should not, it seems worth noting, be doctrinaire about taking every single thing that’s on offer. Breadth of experience can come at the expense of depth, and what’s on offer could end up being expensive, or dangerous. I’m thinking of “take what’s on offer” as a default that can be overridden. It feels of a piece with a question I’ve taken to asking myself when I’m worried about something: “What if it all works out?” This is my attempt to shift my thinking from worst-case scenarios to best- or better-case ones. Being open to what’s on offer is similarly optimistic. This stand-up comedian could be terrible, this party could be boring, this offering could be one I will wish I’d refused. But it could also be great.

Link to original article:
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/09/06/briefing/offer-accepted.html

Don't Rush, You'll Hurt Yourself

I found this piece by Melissa Kirsch to be a nice reminder about pace of life and priorities. Thank you for the wisdom, Melissa!

Hurry up and wait

The New York Times | The Morning
March 2, 2024
by Melissa Kirsch

Racing to catch a subway train recently, I tripped on the stairs leading to the platform, steadying myself only barely by grabbing the arm of an unsuspecting and rightfully alarmed fellow passenger. I sustained no major damage — a scraped knee, a bruise on my thigh I’d discover a week later. These injuries were, I told myself in the aftermath, well deserved. I’d disregarded one of my precepts for personal happiness, the one that stipulates, “Most misery is caused by rushing.”

My fall was the most basic evidence of this, a frying-pan-over-the-head reminder that running late and reckless from one place to the next puts one at risk of a spill. But there was also all the incidental unhappiness I’d incurred and inflicted in the lead-up: I’d been rushing to get out of the house, which put me in a foul mood. I’d been impatient with everyone I encountered on the way to the subway, adding some measure of unpleasantness to their mornings.

We rush because we’re late. We also rush because we want to move quickly away from discomfort. We rush to come up with solutions to problems that would benefit from more sustained consideration. We rush into obligations or decisions or relationships because we want things settled.

Worrying is a kind of rushing: It’s uncomfortable to sit in a state of uncertainty, so we fast-forward the tape, accelerating our lives past the present moment into fearsome imagined scenarios.

A friend and I remind each other regularly of a radio news segment she heard years ago. The reporter concluded the story, about a mess of delays on the Long Island Rail Road, with the line, “These commuters are ready for this day to be over, once and for all.” Of course the message was the commuters wanted to get home and have dinner and go to bed already. But the finality of “once and for all” made it sound as though the commuters were so fed up that they wanted to end that day and all days. Or, as my friend wrote: “Certainly at one point the day will definitely be over once and for all for each of us. Is that what we’re rushing toward?”

This obsession with being done with things, of living life like an endless to-do list, is ridiculous. I find myself sometimes having a lovely time, out to dinner with friends, say, and I’ll notice an insistent hankering for the dinner to be over. Why? So I can get to the next thing, who cares what the next thing is, just keep going. Keep rushing, even through the good parts.

In Marie Howe’s poem “Hurry,” she describes running errands with a child in tow. “Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,” she urges, as the little one scampers to keep up. Then she wonders: “Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave? / To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?”

This is not novel advice, to stop and smell the roses, to be here now, to slow down. But it’s not easily heeded. Our culture, now as ever, rewards hustle. The Silicon Valley maxim “Done is better than perfect” can be constructive when applied to procrastination. But we bring it to bear on situations in which “done” is not necessarily a desirable goal.

Since my subway incident, I’ve been trying to notice when I’m rushing, physically and psychologically. “Where are you going?” I ask myself. “And why are you in such a hurry?” That pause helps put a little space between here and there, and might, with any luck, avert future misery.

Link to original article in the New York Times Morning Newsletter:
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/02/briefing/why-we-cant-stop-rushing.html