As is true of most consequential stranger relationships, Reggie and I couldn’t be more different. He’s Sikh and a successful businessman who recently cashed out his share of a chain of 7-11′s on Long Island. I am a Jew, a writer, foodie–and his patron. We both love Fire Island, although we know it from different vantage points. We hug at the beginning of the season when we first see each other and when I leave. Most years, before I arrive, I email him to remind him to get “my” milk. If I don’t, his first words are usually, “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

I know I can count on Reggie, and I think he feels the same way about me–why else would I go out of my way to put a good word in for him with a guy in another Fire Island town whose grocery store Reggie would like to buy?  Truth be told, I didn’t do it just for Reggie. Thirty years ago, I lived in that town with my (then) husband; my kids grew up there.  Now my grandchildren are spending time there, and I liked the idea of my daughter connecting with Reggie, too.

This is the kind of guy Reggie is: When I forget to bring printer paper to the island and ask if he sells it, he disappears into the back and returns with an unopened ream of paper. Before I even get a chance to ask the price he says, “Use what you need, and return whatever’s left when you leave.”

A few days later, when the freezer breaks down in the house I’ve rented for the last several years, I call and he doesn’t hesitate when ask if I can put some meat and frozen food–into his walk-in freezer until it’s fixed. He knows I’m referring to groceries bought off island, not from him. Even as I offter to pay, explaining that it would be like the “cork fee” restaurants charge when you bring your own bottle, I know that Reggie wouldn’t dream of taking it.  Sure, I spend plenty of money in the store–I want him to stay in business–but when Reggie tells me, “You know I’d do anything for you,” I don’t think it’s about the tab I run up every summer.

I love Reggie, in the manner of love reserved for certain consequential strangers. He’s an anchor for me in this town. And in small increments we keep getting “closer”–a word I don’t like to use to describe relationships, because it sets up a false dichotomy–you’re either close with someone or not. That doesn’t begin to capture the complexity of our social lives. I suggest, instead, the word meaningful. Relationships have different magnitudes of meaning, defined, in part, by disclosure. Each little tidbit of knowing about the other person makes the relationship more meaningful.

Today, as I was on my way out of the store–this now a few days after I met Minnie, Reggie’s wife–Reggie said to me off-handedly, “Hey, you missed my daughter. She was in yesterday.”

“How old is she?” I ask, hoping he hadn’t told me before. Sometimes when I ask a person a question, it’ more about the engagement of the moment, and I forget to pay attention to the answer. For example, I think I once asked Reg where’s he’s from–India or Pakistan–and I think he said “India,” and maybe even told me the city, but I don’t know for sure.  And now, how can I ask? But that’s another story.

“Eleven,” he said, and I tried to imagine the eleven-year-old daughter of Minnie and Reggie.

“I’m so sorry I missed her,” I said, meaning it. “I’ll make sure I bring my daughter in to meet you.” Then, I hesitated, and added, “Or did you meet her last time she was here?”

“No,” said Reg, putting my memory to shame. “Just your son.”

As long as I keep coming to Fire Island, Reggie and I will have a relationship. It is of this place only, but it is important to me. We may get to know more about each other in the coming seasons, but we probably we always remain the best of consequential strangers.

***

Note: Readers and interviewers frequently ask, “How do you know whether a person is a consequential stranger or a friend?” I’m with Supreme Court Justice Potter on this one. He was referring to pornography, but you could just as easily substitute the word “friend” here: “I know it when I see it.” If you’re in doubt, apply this unabashedly unscientific test to a relationship you’re not sure about.

And by the way, it doesn’t matter what you call someone as long as you honor the relationship, no matter how minor a role that person plays in the drama of your life.

When economics define hard times, it’s important to remind ourselves to take pleasure in the non-material reward of connecting with others.  It doesn’t pay the bills, but it can help alleviate the stress. And stress, as we all know, makes us more susceptible to illnesses, which then makes a bad situation worse.  Researchers put the risks associated with social isolation right up there with smoking and obesity.

In fact, when you have no job–or, for that matter, when social circumstances change for any reason (divorce, a move)–the loss of people is arguably more of a threat to your well-being than the loss of income.  A man I know, whose factory had massive layoffs, told me that what he missed about work most was the social contact.  In the lunchroom, he’d talk with his buddies about the news, his hobbies, and have the kinds of conversations he’d never have at home. “I could say anything to the guys, and they’d understand.”

We all need the kind of social stimulation that comes from coworkers and other types of consequential strangers.  Especially when we’re in a tough transition, the people closest to us are often as shell-shocked and worried as we are.  They also think the way we think and have many of the same influences.  In contrast, through everyday exchanges with people who cross our paths during our routine comings and goings, we are exposed to new ideas and experiences that can lead to opportunities or a better understanding.  Take the artist. Maybe one of her patrons will have a great creative suggestion or a connection that might lead to another source of income.   And when she mentions that her boiler keeps breaking down, another might know of a good plumber who might be willing to barter.

And it’s not just about opportunity.  To insulate ourselves, to escape every now and then, we also have to do something that brings us pleasure and makes us smile–ideally, something done with someone else: A game of gin rummy with a neighbor, a schmoozing session with other mothers at the park, an online chat with the guy who sat behind you in English class in high school.  A little novelty here, bursts of spontaneous laughter there–in each case, moments of connection that make the day go better.

How do you do it?  Everyone’s life is different, but here are some rules of thumb:

Review your new daily routine–and take a second look at the people you encounter. You’ve “lost” all the consequential strangers you encountered on your commute and at your place of business. Ask yourself, who can I connect with now?  Maybe you linger longer at the dog park or have more time to interact with neighbors.  Are there any people with whom you have a “nodding acquaintance” who might be worth getting to know?

Frequent a “being space.” A favorite coffee shop or tavern, a bowling alley, a barber shop, the town square if you’re lucky enough to live in a place that has one–any one of these can be a “being space,” a warm, safe, welcoming environment where strangers often become consequential strangers.  It’s not enough just to go there, though.  Engage!

Push yourself–it’s good “medicine.” If you’re shy–or depressed–take baby steps.  Introduce yourself to the waitress, bartender, the guy or gal behind the counter, or a fellow patron.  Make small talk: You see someone wearing a baseball cap with your favorite team’s logo: “Hey, I’m a Mets fan, too.”  Or maybe a gadget catches your eye: “I’ve been thinking of getting a Kindle. How do you like it?”

Let people know what you need. Sociologists and marketing experts have found that people share information and ideas mostly because of “felt need.”  People who knew of openings in their company were more likely to talk about it when they knew that someone was in the market for a job.  Similarly, when it comes to recommending products or services, acquaintances tend to suggest an accountant at tax time or a travel website when they know you’re planning a trip.

Use technology. Pick up the phone and renew old acquaintances.  Go online and forge new connections around areas of interest or common causes that you haven’t yet pursued because you never had the time.  Ideally, some of those tech-instigated conversations will develop into off line relationships.  At the very least, they might become great sources of inspiration and entertainment–and can help you feel less alone.

Note: This post was published simultaneously at Psychology Today and Shareable

The antidote for loneliness is to connect with consequential strangers.  Having a “tribe,” John told me when I interviewed him for the book, is the flip side of social isolation.  All of us experience loneliness at times, but it is most dramatic–and we are most vulnerable–during major life transitions when a dependable “circle of support” is disrupted. In this film, for example, the woman lost her CS at work when she had a baby.

It happened to me, too, when I moved from New York City to Northampton, MA.  Gone were merchants I dealt with, doctors, my hair dresser, people I’d chat with for a few minutes when our paths crossed.  I didn’t realize how valuable those brief encounters were until I no longer had them.

I’ve heard similar stories from people who have been laid off.  They miss the everyday banter that they once took for granted.  And it’s hard to regain a sense of equilibrium.    In “What I Lost When I Lost My Job,” Dominique Browning, former editor of House & Garden, puts it this way: “With the closing of the magazine, my beloved family of colleagues was obliterated. And so was the structure of my life.”

In order to feel “at home” in new circumstances–whatever they are–we may need to recruit new CS.   To be sure, if one is shy or socially awkward, striking up a conversation with anyone can be difficult, but less so with someone you barely know.  There’s no baggage from the past–only the present moment.  It’s a good place to start.  For example, the woman this video ultimately connected with other isolated mothers.  She didn’t need to become best friends with them; knowing that they experienced similar feelings made her less ashamed of her own.

If you need a little help reaching out to people, check out “21 Ways to Make Meaningful Connections,” an article I contributed to Beliefnet.

I only spent three days in Amsterdam–another reason I’m not expert!  Still, there are many reasons I have for suggesting that it is a high on the CS index.  Note how appropriately the café (above, left) is named.  (And by “café” I don’t mean a cannibus coffee shop!).  The fact is, Amsterdam seems to have been designed for schmoozing. 

Amsterdam’s storybook city center, with its concentric rings of canals (designed and built in the 17th century), might have gone the way of many post-war cities that made room for cars by demolishing old neighborhoods and dotting the landscape with highways.  Amsterdam started going in that direction, according to this article on Wikipedia, but such “modernization”  was met with major protests–the Nieuwmarkt riots of the mid-seventies.  As a result, the city planners stopped building the proposed inner-city highway, stopped tearing down existing buildings to widen the narrow streets. In short, they valued bikes and pedestrians over cars–and, thereby, ensured the livable Amsterdam we find today.

The people are uber-friendly in Amsterdam.  They talk and walk; talk and ride. They enjoy new people; they like to hear what life is like for others.   They seem proud of their city.  “Is it as nice to live here as it seems? ” was invariably met with a “yes.”  Several Amsterdamers (if that’s a word) told me that it Amsterdam was not the Netherlands; in other parts of the country people have a more closed–provincial–mentality.

What gives the people of a city their “nature”?  Maybe in Amsterdam’s case, it’s diversity.  You have all types of people living in a very dense area–an ethnic mix and a ideological mix as well.   Pot smokers seem to peacefully coexist with more conservative factions.  And because most of the people are at least bi-lingual in the  city, they can talk to each other.  Conversations flow.  And because every block is dotted with places to hang out–benches, the edges of the canal, restaurants, coffee shops, parks–it’s relatively easy to connect.

And then there’s this:  the book fair in Dam Square every Friday.  A city that cares enough about books to have–and can support, a weekly book fair, what does that say about its populace?

So here I am again, now with two blogs–Consequential Strangers and MotherU–each representing a totally different part of my life.   I’ll funnel some ideas into in one blog, some in the other, and with others, such this one, I’ll be “bipostal,” contributing to both sites.   I’ll express my thoughts and hope that they resonate somewhere in the Universe, share my expertise and hope that it helps.  But I’ve let go of the expectation.

I’m not the only bi-postal blogger out there, according to some recent stats on blogging.  Approximately half of us are working on at least our second blog, and 68% have been blogging for two years or more.  To paraphrase Oscar Wilde’s famous quote about second marriages, “Second blogs are the triumph of hope over experience.”

This blog, Consequential Strangers, grew out of three years of writing and research on the book of the same name.  It features real-life examples from the news and further explanation of concepts in the book, as well as my own ruminations on various aspects of one’s larger social life.  It satisfies my sociological/psychological self. I’ve focused on relationships for decades now, written about all sorts–parent and child, couples, siblings, extended family.  But this book took me beyond connections involving intimates.  The blog enabled me–for the first time in my writing career–to continue to explore a subject even after the book came out, something a traditional book doesn’t allow.  Admittedly, it was also a marketing tool–what book today is not launched withouth a blog?  But I’ve since realized that while a blog may pique readers’ interest, it doesn’t necessarily lead them to a book store.   So Consequential Strangers has become a place where I throw out ideas about relationships. I hope someone is listening.

My more recent blog, MotherU, is the resurrection of a website my daughter created nearly seven years ago.  For nearly a year I’d toyed with the idea of doing it. Then suddenly I had to get it up there, reincarnated as a blog, and it almost felt like it was the site’s idea, not mine.  Its focus is the mother/daughter relationship when the mother becomes a grandmother and the daughter a mother and both are members of the “motherhood union.”  Only a week old at this writing, MotherU represents a fundamental piece of who I am — the mother of a grown daughter and, to my amazement, a grandmother (not a term I accepted gracefully!).  I have always found stories and theories about mother/daughter relationships particularly interesting–the inspiration for 1001 posts.  But also, I believe there is a need for this conversation between mothers and their adult daughters.  So I plan to throw out some ideas, and we’ll see what happens….

Two blogs, two audiences, no expectations.  With an estimated 133 billion people writing blogs, and “only” 346 billion readers to go around, how can anyone have expectations?  I guess I will base my “success” on the criterion that 70% of bloggers use: my own personal satisfaction.  Believe me about that, because I’m also among the 75% that describe themselves as “sincere,” not the 16% who describe themselves as “snarky”!

It’s not easy here (see this post about my last trip), and the challenge has made me think about what I have to do to connect in a city–this city.  New York is different for me, not only because I speak the language there, but also because  I know the unwritten social rules of the city–how to read the “body idiom” and do what Irving Goffman called the “face work.”   But one doesn’t have to be a sociologist to see that Parisians have a different social playbook than Americans–and I don’t have a copy!  Therefore, I keep reminding myself of the basics of face-to-face connection–skills  we don’t exercise in front of our computers.

For your opening line, find common ground. Compliment (“I love your coat”), question (“How old is your dog?”  is particularly effective if you both have dogs), or share the moment (“Can you believe it’s still this cold?”  “Isn’t that a magnificent building?”)

Say something about yourself. Connection is the sum of shared disclosures. Don’t overshare, though, especially in Paris!

Pay attention to your own body language.  Are you sitting with your arms crossed, your body turned slightly away from the other person?  If so, do you really want to be there?

Be polite but real. If you are enjoying the conversation, say so–not in a gratuitously flattering way, only if you really feel it.

Respect the cultural idiom.  Even if I smile engagingly and make the kind of eye contact that works in New York, I have to accept that that strategy almost never works in Paris.  And when I find out what does–other than having a very cute dog that despite myth is not really French at all–I’ll let you know.

Stay in touch. If someone gives you their card or number, use it or lose it!   Certainly, if you walk away thinking, “What an [interesting/nice/bizarre] person.  I’d like to do that again,” then by all means follow up with a text, an email, or a call when you get home.

To be sure, these are basic social graces–and they don’t always result in rich conversations.  But depending how old you are and how much time you spend on line, you might need practice.  It’s kind of like reading books.  After spending a day absorbing a sentence here, a paragraph there, many of us have found that it’s not so easy anymore to settle down with one book.   But those of us who love books keep trying–we don’t want to lose our book-reading chops.  And so it should be with our face-to-face social skills. Some early studies suggest that the so-called Google brain might be less able to read faces and feel empathy. All the more reason to keep trying.

It was beyond the scope of the book to investigate relational differences in other countries, but many social scientists have looked at both “emotional norms”  in different cultures  and at the degree to which we see ourselves as  independent or interdependent.  It’s a complex equation, but culture impacts both personality traits and our everyday decisions.

Geert Hofstede, who looks at five “cultural dimensions,” finds that the U.S. ranks first in “individualism,” scoring 91 on the scale.  (The six runners-up are Australia (90), United Kingdom (89), Netherlands and Canada (80), and Italy (76).  In contrast, Taiwan scores 12, putting it fairly close to the “collectivist” end of the continuum.  Such cultures feature “strong, cohesive in-groups, often extended families (with uncles, aunts and grandparents) which continue protecting them in exchange for unquestioning loyalty.”

Out of curiosity, I also checked out where Hofstede ranked Ghana.  I interviewed and wrote about social scientist Eva Schiffer’s net-mapping work with a water management board in Bolgatanga, Ghana.  Ghana is part of  West Africa, which scores 16, putting it in the same league with countries grouped together as “Asia” (20).  And yet, Ghana’s collectivist leanings make its people no less hospitable to strangers, according to Schiffer.  Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 2:

Ghanaians have no word for “consequential strangers,” she says, but having a broad network of affiliations is crucial for survival.  “I expected that it would be all about family but it was very easy for me as a stranger to develop something similar to family.”   The man who helped her find a house in Bolgatanga and get a telephone in two months instead of nine became her “uncles.”  Others are now her “brothers” and “sisters

If collectivist Ghana values consequential strangers, why not Taiwan?   And why not the U.K. or Canada?  Indeed, it makes sense that regardless of where a country stands on the   independence/interdependence continuum, the need to connect with others is so basic and universal that it cuts across ideologies and cultures.  In Ghana and Taiwan they are accustomed to, and know the benefits of, working in concert with one another.  Even though Schiffer was a stranger, they welcomed her into the fold.  And although in the U.S., our networks may be more individualized and loose-knit than in other countries, anyone who’s successful knows that to achieve anything, you can’t do it alone.   As the old African proverb goes:

If you want to go fast, go alone.  If you want to go far, go together.

(Stay tuned, folks:  I’m off to Paris in May, where I hope to continue to amass enough CS to give me a sense of belonging!)

Besides making you laugh, I hope that reading this will give you pause the next time you forward an email alarm to your friends.  It’s always a good idea to Google “Internet hoaxes” first.  You’ll find several sites, such as Snopes and Hoax Busters, that will talk you down.

Thanks

I just want to thank all of you for your educational e-mails over the past year. I am totally screwed up now and have little chance of recovery.

I no longer open a public bathroom door
Without using a paper towel or have them put lemon slices in my ice water without worrying about the bacteria on the lemon peel.

I can’t use the remote in a hotel room
Because I don’t know what the last person was doing while flipping through the adult movie channels.

I can’t sit down on the hotel bedspread
Because I can only imagine what has happened on it since it was last washed.

I can’t touch any woman’s purse
For fear she has placed it on the floor of a public bathroom.

I no longer have any savings
Because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer eat at KFC
Because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer use deodorants
Because they cause cancer.

I no longer drink Coca Cola
Because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer can buy gasoline
Without taking someone along to watch the car so a serial killer won’t crawl in my back seat when I’m pumping gas.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper
Since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put ’Under God’ on their cans.

I no longer use Saran Wrap
In the microwave because it causes cancer.

I can’t boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore
Because it will blow up in my face… Disfiguring me for life.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones
Because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer go to shopping malls
Because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or Fed Ex
Since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I can’t use anyone’s toilet but mine
Because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt.

I can’t ever pick up $5.00 dropped in the parking lot
Because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.

…I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor’s ex-mother-in-law’s second husband’s cousin’s beautician…