This week, I had another episode of tonsillitis and spent most of the time sleeping and feeling pain. I say another because I've been dealing with chronic tonsillitis since childhood and, for various reasons, I never had my tonsils removed.
Because of this, I didn’t intend to write my weekly text. However, after talking to a friend, I was reminded of a story, and I felt like sharing it.
At the time, I was living in São Paulo and saw an event on Facebook that interested me: it was the opening of an art exhibition on male nudes. I looked at the list of attendees and found at least ten people I knew, so I thought it would be fun even going alone, as I would certainly run into people there and could socialize a bit.
Why didn’t I contact the people who confirmed their attendance to make plans for the night? Well… Because I'm usually that person who wants contact but prefers others to take the initiative.
So, when I got to the event, there were lots of people, but no one I knew. That's fine, it's still early, I thought. I looked at the drawings, the paintings, the groups, the bar, the waiters, the ceiling... The venue wasn’t very big, so I had checked out everything on display in twenty or thirty minutes. Still, no one I knew. I looked around, and everyone was accompanied, some in pairs, others in larger groups.
I took a deep breath and felt small.
I left the gallery and went to the subway. When I arrived at the station, I had a moment of clarity: when I got home, I would feel like a social failure.
OK, pause for correction. Social failure is not a feeling, it’s a narrative/judgment about a situation, but unfortunately, it has the power to evoke feelings of sadness and frustration in me for not having connected with anyone at the exhibition.
Let me try again: when I got home, I would feel frustrated with myself because, despite wanting to talk to human beings that night, I hadn’t taken any steps to make it happen. To top it off, this frustration would be aggravated by a series of thoughts about how I struggle to go out, how I only have a few friends and so on.
However, that particular night, I wasn’t willing to enter that self-diminishing spiral. With that in mind, I set myself a challenge: to talk to one person. Just that, one person, no particular topic, no minimum duration, just talk to someone.
I went back to the gallery filled with renewed self-confidence and... froze again. All the humans in that space were engaged with each other. Where could I breach in? Who could I talk to? I considered leaving again, but I really didn’t want to flee from my own challenge.
Finally, I saw a couple of guys talking side by side, both leaning against the wall. Stealthily, I approached them. They continued there, engrossed in their own conversation. I took a deep breath, gathered courage, and said hi.
Following the hi, I also said: I’m here alone at this exhibition, I don’t know anyone, but I wanted to talk to people and mingle, so I saw you here and decided to say hi and ask if I could talk to you. I don’t even know if they heard the whole thing, but it was a flow of authentic expression and sincere request – of which I’m still proud today.
At the end of the night, I went out to dinner with a large group of people, friends of friends of the couple I talked to, I laughed a lot, and then I went home happy with the outcome, but even more with the effort I made.
That night taught me something important about the value of creating welcoming environments. When I volunteered for CreativeMornings São Paulo (a lecture event with breakfast for the creative community), my role was to break the ice between strangers. Whenever I saw someone alone, I’d start a conversation and then find other human beings they could connect with. A simple but powerful gesture.
Here in Tokyo, last month, I went to a party in a bar. I knew some friends would arrive there later – I had already confirmed with them beforehand –, so I was sure I would eventually get to talk to people. However, as soon as I arrived, a girl I met at a picnic saw me and came to say hi, then introduced me to the bar owners. From there on, I kept talking not only with them but with more and more people, feeling like I belonged in that environment.
At a certain point, I noticed someone sitting alone. From the other side of the bar, another person approached them and said, “hi, I saw you weren’t talking to anyone, do you want to chat?”. I was so happy to see that happening, feeling so proud to be in an environment with other people invested in creating a welcoming space for connections to happen.
I started this text by saying that a conversation with a friend inspired me to share these thoughts. He wrote to me saying he had seen a pair of people who seemed nice on the train and wished he had been "more like me" so he could have interacted with them.
I thought this was funny because those who know me usually find it strange when I talk about my difficulty in initiating new social connections, especially in environments where I’m unsure if people are open to contact. It would be lovely if everyone were extroverted and confident, but that’s not the world I live in today.
What I’ve realized over the years is that some environments make it easier for me, as well as for others, to explore the complex universe of social interactions. What these environments have in common is an intentional effort to reduce barriers so that people can connect with each other. These intentional efforts range from an introduction ritual (e.g., writing your name on a tag and answering a question about yourself) to having someone specifically designated to facilitate initial conversations.
And, in the absence of this intentional effort by those who organize spaces and events, I celebrate the existence of people who take on themselves this act of care. Of course, I include myself in this group on the occasions when I manage to do so.
With love,
Tales
Thank you for this beautiful post! It reminded me of when I was a new student at a local community college. I went by myself to a meeting of the Psychology Club and the club president, Efrain, welcomed me like a friend. His small kindness of that moment changed my life in many small and large ways. All I know is that when given the chance, I've striven to be that person for others. Thank you, Tales, for reawakening that fond memory!
Hope you’ll feel better soon. I had regular bouts of tonsillitis myself - almost annually - prior to the pandemic. I also had considered removing my tonsils too.
But funny enough, the pandemic improved my hygiene practices and I stopped getting tonsillitis (so far) 😌
Your writing about social connections is beautiful. Personally, without the apps, I don’t know how I’d interact with a new person in an unfamiliar place, especially traveling alone in a new city 🥲
I struggle at opening up to a total stranger in-person when I’m by myself, and I totally appreciate you going out of the way looking out for people who are alone.
It’s often easier for me to ask for help for something to start a conversation rather than having a complete blank canvas 😅.
It’s an area that I want to improve on and have more practice, and also boost my self confidence 😣