I thought I was engaging in a happy exercise that would
initiate light-hearted conversations between strangers.
I could not have been more wrong.
Winter in Portland this year has been absolutely beautiful. The sky is the color blue, which we typically don't see until April, but most likely May. Possibly June (usually July). Everyone is in a good mood. I stopped in at a local brewery after I got off work, and it felt perfect - it was dead, and the bartender looked terminally bored. My first victim.
"I have a random question I wanted to ask someone today. Are you game?"
He lit up and laughed. "That sounds awesome, let's hear it."
"If you could write your younger self a note, what would you say if you only had 3 words?"
There was no pause. No contemplation. "I don't need 3 words. 'Heroin: no.'"
I was punched in the gut. I'd helped someone very close to me through a heroin addiction. Aside from a little cocaine at raves and some bong hits, I had no direct experience with drugs - but I had been intimately involved with them by proxy.
"Yeah, heroin addicts don't die of old age." I took an extra-long sip of my IPA, trying to figure out how to unshit the shit I'd just dropped on this poor guy's day.
He laughed. "You've never used," he said with an absolute certainty that was almost off-putting. I felt like the nerdy kid in class. The effectiveness of peer pressure suddenly made tons of sense.
"I haven't. But I've watched someone quit. I'll stick to beer," I laughed.
At this point, his body language changed. He leaned in towards me, putting his elbows on the bar. "It's the fuckin' worst drug. But I've had buddies get just as deep with shit they got from their doctor."
I nodded enthusiastically. I was raised in a family that trended away from Western medicine due in part to poverty and in part to being closet hippies. My grandmother could grow back a limb with echinacea. "I don't even trust NyQuil," I responded.
He started laughing. A couple walked in and shuffled up to the bar, looking at the beer menu with furrowed brows.
"Welcome, guys! We just cracked open the Swarzbier, highly recommended." I figured that our conversation was over, but I was becoming an expert in being wrong.
He ordered the IPA, she ordered the Swarzbier. My new friend saddled back up to talk to me.
"What about you?"
It was then that I realized what a heavy question it was. I took another long sip of my IPA before I answered, "'Don't settle.' I didn't need three words either."
Don't worry, I'm not going to proceed to write a bunch of self-indulgent shit about myself and my black-belt-level Adult Wisdom. I'd rather pontificate on human experience.
I asked a stranger a question, and spoke less than a dozen words doing so. Within seconds, I knew more about him than I know about most members of my family. I typically shy away from this level of intimacy like I do locusts or polio, but it happened so organically that I hardly noticed.
The conclusion I reached? People fucking love to talk about themselves- including the shittiest part of their history. Everyone you encounter is the Most Interesting Person Alive.
Ask questions. Engage with your fellow man. It's amazingly therapeutic.
And my journey begins.
I could not have been more wrong.
Winter in Portland this year has been absolutely beautiful. The sky is the color blue, which we typically don't see until April, but most likely May. Possibly June (usually July). Everyone is in a good mood. I stopped in at a local brewery after I got off work, and it felt perfect - it was dead, and the bartender looked terminally bored. My first victim.
"I have a random question I wanted to ask someone today. Are you game?"
He lit up and laughed. "That sounds awesome, let's hear it."
"If you could write your younger self a note, what would you say if you only had 3 words?"
There was no pause. No contemplation. "I don't need 3 words. 'Heroin: no.'"
I was punched in the gut. I'd helped someone very close to me through a heroin addiction. Aside from a little cocaine at raves and some bong hits, I had no direct experience with drugs - but I had been intimately involved with them by proxy.
"Yeah, heroin addicts don't die of old age." I took an extra-long sip of my IPA, trying to figure out how to unshit the shit I'd just dropped on this poor guy's day.
He laughed. "You've never used," he said with an absolute certainty that was almost off-putting. I felt like the nerdy kid in class. The effectiveness of peer pressure suddenly made tons of sense.
"I haven't. But I've watched someone quit. I'll stick to beer," I laughed.
At this point, his body language changed. He leaned in towards me, putting his elbows on the bar. "It's the fuckin' worst drug. But I've had buddies get just as deep with shit they got from their doctor."
I nodded enthusiastically. I was raised in a family that trended away from Western medicine due in part to poverty and in part to being closet hippies. My grandmother could grow back a limb with echinacea. "I don't even trust NyQuil," I responded.
He started laughing. A couple walked in and shuffled up to the bar, looking at the beer menu with furrowed brows.
"Welcome, guys! We just cracked open the Swarzbier, highly recommended." I figured that our conversation was over, but I was becoming an expert in being wrong.
He ordered the IPA, she ordered the Swarzbier. My new friend saddled back up to talk to me.
"What about you?"
It was then that I realized what a heavy question it was. I took another long sip of my IPA before I answered, "'Don't settle.' I didn't need three words either."
Don't worry, I'm not going to proceed to write a bunch of self-indulgent shit about myself and my black-belt-level Adult Wisdom. I'd rather pontificate on human experience.
I asked a stranger a question, and spoke less than a dozen words doing so. Within seconds, I knew more about him than I know about most members of my family. I typically shy away from this level of intimacy like I do locusts or polio, but it happened so organically that I hardly noticed.
The conclusion I reached? People fucking love to talk about themselves- including the shittiest part of their history. Everyone you encounter is the Most Interesting Person Alive.
Ask questions. Engage with your fellow man. It's amazingly therapeutic.
And my journey begins.
