Consequential Strangers When We Need Them Most

Yesterday — much to my delight — Jane Brody‘s featured “The Benefit of Talking To Strangers” in her “Personal Health” column for the New York Times. Actually, it’s about consequential strangers.

With in-person time with family and close friends now limited by a mutual desire to avoid exposure to Covid-19, the brief socially distant contacts with people in my neighborhood, both those I’ve known casually for years and others I just met, have been crucial to my emotional and practical well-being and maybe even my health.

The benefits I associate with my casual connections were reinforced recently by a fortuitous find. During a Covid-inspired cleanup I stumbled upon a book in my library called “Consequential Strangers: The Power of People Who Don’t Seem to Matter … But Really Do.” Published 11 years ago, this enlightening tome was written by Melinda Blau, a science writer, and Karen L. Fingerman, currently a professor of psychology at the University of Texas, Austin…

I was thrilled for our book to be covered by the New York Times — and by Jane Brody, no less. I’ve always admired her and imagined from her writing that we have a lot in common. We could be consequential strangers!

I’m a lifelong extrovert who readily establishes and relishes casual contacts with people I encounter during daily life: while walking my dog, shopping for groceries, working out at the Y, even sweeping my sidewalk. These ephemeral connections add variety to my life, are a source of useful information and often provide needed emotional and physical support. Equally important, they nearly always leave me with a smile on my face (although now hidden under a mask!).

I, too, have given a lot of thought lately to the benefits of consequential strangers, especially since mid-May when I left Florida, bound for an unfamiliar city, Washington, DC.

Any move is disorienting. But COVID added another layer of “hard.” It was bad enough that I had no idea when I’d next see my children, grandchildren, close friends — those I cherished most. I didn’t know a soul in DC. I would be living with my significant other but I knew I needed other “significants” as well.

Although Karen Fingerman had not yet coined the term consequential strangers, I first became aware of their importance in 1990 when I moved from Manhattan to Northampton, Massachusetts. My good friends were in touch by phone; some visited on weekends. But a whole layer of other, everyday relationships dropped out of my life — the bank teller I schmoozed with, my doormen, the sweet lady at the dry cleaner’s who showed me pictures of her grandchildren.

Feeling unmoored, I launched my “acquaintanceship campaign.” If a server or salesperson wore a name tag, I’d call her or him by name and make small talk. I’d ask the postman whether his back felt better. I’d stop a stranger to ask where she’d bought those great sneakers. I also cold-called psychologists whose work I admired and fellow writers in the area. Northampton eventually began to feel like home.

Accordingly, when I arrived in DC, I immediately set out to “make” consequential strangers. I introduced myself to members of the building staff and to local purveyors. On walks, I stopped to talk to fellow dog owners and random neighbors, explaining, “I just moved here.”

Yes, it’s a little more challenging with a mask on, but I can usually see people’s smiles in their eyes.

I have already met more new people than I can count. Admittedly, the spring weather makes street chats easier. It also helps to have a dog.

Rocky quickly made canine friends in DC, and each of them comes with an interesting human who has helped me navigate and feel comfortable in my new surround — the specialty shops and farmer’s markets, the medical facilities, the local gardens and conservatories. Who knew I was walking distance from the National Cathedral?

I now chat with the guy who planted the community garden. I’ve met his wife and kids. They once lived in Manhattan. I stop by, even when they’re not home, to pick herbs for dinner.

I enjoy brief visits with a fascinating older couple. Both filmmakers, he a former lacrosse record-holder. They have coffee on the front porch of their rowhouse, and I perch myself on the concrete steps leading up to it. I’m curious about the history of the neighborhood.

I sometimes invite Millie’s owner, a charming thirty-something, to the dog park adjacent to my building. While Millie and Rocky chase each other, she tells me what she and the catering industry that once employed her are doing to reinvent themselves. Our age difference be damned; we appreciate each other’s perspective. And the dogs love each other.

These encounters sometimes last only a few minutes, but they matter. To recognize and to be recognized as you go through the day makes a place feel like home. I’m not sure if the words I wrote 11 years ago are necessarily truer today, but it certainly feels that way.

Consequential strangers are as vital to our well-being, growth, and day-to-day existence as family and close friends. Consequential strangers anchor us in the world and give us a sense of being plugged into something larger. They also enhance and enrich our lives and offer us opportunities for novel experiences and information that is beyond the purview of our inner circles. They are vital social connections — people who help you get through the day and make life more interesting.

And more surprising. Barely three weeks into my DC “campaign,” I met a fellow dog owner, an exotic interior designer whose taste (I would later discover by Googling her) is high-end and exquisite. We talked for around ten minutes on the street that day, stopping occasionally to untangle our dogs’ leashes. I smiled at her warning, “DC is not New York,” welcomed her suggestions, and felt comfortable enough to exchange cell phone numbers.

A few days later, she texted me: She and her husband were going to their favorite pizza place. Would we like them to drop off a pie? We said yes. Her husband delivered the pie. I’m still in awe. It was the most generous and most surprising kindness anyone has ever extended me, no less a near-stranger. It certainly came at a time I needed it most.

Cultural / Historical Footnote: As if Jane Brody writing about consequential strangers wasn’t reason enough to celebrate, a friend also let me know the piece was featured in the online “Editor’s Picks.” Alas! by the time I clicked on the link, the “picks” had changed. This being 2020, Andy Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame now lasts 15 seconds (if that).