Pollyism of the week
Ihave a passion for people that makes my life always full of new and interesting instant friends. Everyone I meet, just somehow know they’re destined to be my new best friend. My partner and family are constantly looking at me like I’m a wee bit nutty as I exchange contact details with people I’ve only known on a six-floor elevator ride.
Do we all have times when the thought of socialising almost cripples us with anxiety? I do. Some days, I’d rather walk over hot tar than go out and mingle. Generally, that coincides with hormones or lack of sleep and depleted serotonin stores. It gets so bad at times that even leaving my room and facing the corridor makes my heart sink.
But if all is well with the world, then I love nothing more than sparking up a chat. I love a natter, but more than the talk, I love to know everyone a little better. It’s the connection, and perhaps an attempt to make the world smaller and friendlier.
I must be terribly annoying to some people who would rather happily live their own life without some loopy bird asking questions, but I just love a good story.
I’ve learnt so much over the years as I’ve started conversations with people on trains, planes, boats and buses. Everyone has a story, from checkout operators and dairy owners to people in hospital waiting rooms. Musicians, actors, plumbers, nurses ... Everyone has a fascinating, rollercoaster, lovely, romantic or tragic tale. Most of our stories are a mixture of comedy and
tragedy, and most people want to be heard.
A few years ago, I met a taxi driver who told me how his father had saved the lives of his whole family by making them hike for weeks up treacherous, jungle-covered mountains to safety. Had his father taken them the easier way, the way many of the other villagers had gone, the family of 10 would have perished. His father saved them from death at the hands of the Khmer Rouge.
I met a homeless man and we got talking. He lost his wife and daughter in a car accident a few Christmases ago. He walked out of his house and could never go back to his things or his memories.
A few weeks ago, I met a young woman who washed my hair. She told me she was great, but I didn’t believe her. I asked her if something was worrying her and she told me her dad had committed suicide.
Every day I hear stories. It’s not that I’m nosy, but I figure if I look for the similarities and hear the stories, then there is no way I can become racist, size-ist or anything-ist. It’s when we seek out differences that we can’t hear people and understand their journey.
I’m pretty sure I get my need to make everyone a friend from my mum and dad. Both of them were such great listeners. I miss you, Dad, every single day, but thank you for being so gregarious and engaged with everyone you met. What a great example you showed.