Talking to strangers

The simple magic of connecting with people you don't know

I think talking to strangers is one of the greatest joys of my life.

For those of you who have been here since the beginning days, you might remember I had another publication called Talking to Strangers for a little while. My intention was to interview people while I lived life on the road— to document the beautiful and uplifting conversations that seemed to always transpire between me and a stranger.

As someone healing from the fawn response, I’ve found it a lot easier to connect with strangers as my authentic self— more so than with people I already know. A little confusing, I know. But with strangers, there’s this beautiful container that arises unlike any other. You know nothing about each other— there’s no pre-existing relational bonds, rules, or expectations. You meet each others exactly as you are, where you are, in the fleeting moment of spontaneous, impermanent connection.

It’s always felt safer to my nervous system. A stranger is not someone to please, not someone I have to maintain a connection with or uphold some sort of expectation. There is a freedom in knowing I can just be— exactly as I am. If it doesn’t feel good or aligned, I can just walk away. My body is still learning how to feel that same kind of freedom with non-strangers— but having the pressure of maintaining a connection or a relationship triggers the fawn in me. When there’s an expectation, an emotional bond— my nervous system views this as a threat. I must maintain harmony, avoid conflict, appease. It’s an interesting observation, and I’m slowly re-teaching my body that it’s possible to experience the freedom I feel with strangers, in my day to day relationships, too.

Still, fawn response or not, I think we can all agree there’s some kind of magic that happens when we connect with a stranger. I’ve even seen videos on it before— that we are more likely to be vulnerable with a stranger than we are with the people in our lives. Which makes me believe it’s not just the fawn response that leaves me loving the sacred space between me and a stranger— that it’s a bit more of a universal experience. We feel less pressure, we feel less exposed. We will likely never see that stranger again. We don’t have to uphold an image or maintain a connection. We exist in this void of sorts— a void of boundless connection. It feels spiritual, in a way. There’s a spark of aliveness and magic there, one we perhaps lose connection to in our everyday connections. How easy it is to forget how sacred this whole experience is, to get swept away in routine and mundane rhythms that we can no longer see life and the people around us for what they really are:

Magical.

But with strangers, it is alive and well. The anonymity, the spark. It is special. And it never fails to make me feel so alive.

I think that’s why I’ve always adored travel so much. Stepping off a plane and walking the streets of Bangkok for the first time? My god. Best feeling in the world. But stepping out of my Honda fit on my daily drive home from work to go for a walk in my neighborhood? Why does it feel so dang drab and dull?

Novelty and newness certainly fire those dopamine circuits, don’t they? Perhaps that is exactly what’s happening when we connect with a stranger, too.

I ended up stopping the publication because it wasn’t the right medium. Instead, I hold a sacred vision of starting either a podcast or YouTube series one day, where I go around interviewing strangers about hope and life. I used to want to rush these kinds of things, so swept away by the excitement of an idea. But I trust this vision will come to life one day… and one day soon.

I’ve had countless life altering interactions with strangers. Some of my favorite memories come from these moments. So I’ve decided to devote the rest of this essay to sharing some of my favorites.

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Stories of Strangers

There was one day last Spring that I hopped on an eight hour bus from the north of England to the South.

For the first leg of the ride, I spotted a girl with a cool style. I decided to plop down next to her, smiled, and complimented her outfit. Over the next four hours, we chatted about life. It turns out we had a lot in common, and we gushed over all things spirituality, healing, and living from the heart. We smiled and giggled so much. Her kindness and joy made me feel safe. As a solo traveling woman, those kind of interactions went a long way.

For the second leg of the trip, I chose a seat in the back of the bus. A young man sat next to me, and I could feel myself tense up. I didn’t particularly like being around men while solo traveling, as I never knew what kind of energy I was going to encounter. For the first hour or so, we sat in silence as I knitted and listened to my music. But as I pulled out my candy I had bought at the last station, I had the nudge to offer him some. I tapped on his shoulder and held out my bag. He smiled and happily accepted the sour candy peace treaty.

For the next two hours, we chatted non-stop. He told me about his life in the north, living with his family while working with adults with disabilities. We laughed a lot as I uncovered the true English meaning of bantering. He shared his shrimp crisps and I pulled out another round of candy. We didn’t exchange our names until the very end, as we shook hands, smiled, and parted our ways.

Another time I decided to hike the gorgeous Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh at sunset. As I reached the top, I accidentally made eye contact with a man who appeared to be in his thirties. I quickly darted my eyes away, again hesitant to make any connection with a man while alone. But then he softly called out in a gentle wonder: “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?!”

Something opened up and I felt my protective shell soften, and we started walking the final ascent together. I realized he spoke Arabic, and I talked with him in the little Arabic I knew. I’ve noticed people tend to light up when you try to speak in their native language with them.

As we reached the top, I knew I was in great company. He was a doctor, spending a few weeks traveling on his own for holiday. His childlike awe and curiosity were insight into his wholesome and kind nature. He pulled out some baklava and offered it to me and another guy who had joined in our conversations. We watched the sunset together as a group behind us played music and sang songs in Spanish. He then suggested we all take photos with the sunset, as he played the role of our hype-man photographer.

As we journeyed back down the (what I’d call) mountain, we talked about hope, life, and connection. I asked him what he thought the world needed, and he said with conviction: more empathy and more connection. He walked me to my bus stop, and gave me a pep talk about believing in myself. As my bus rolled up we exchanged the biggest hug and wished each other well on our ways. He waved to me as I smiled and waved back from the window. It reminded me of my grandma, how she used to always wave me goodbye from her back porch as I drove away from the distant country road. She had just passed away a few weeks prior— so it made the moment extra special.

Another time I was sitting on the little red bus that ran from Pai to Chiang Mai. I loved this bus ride. It was wild, windy, and quite unpredictable. I felt an unusual sense of safety on those bus rides up and down the mountain. There was something about being on a bus ride down a mountain, similar to being on a plane, where you ultimately have no control. No matter how hard I try, I can’t control what happens. In knowing I have no control, I feel a deep peace that comes with full and total surrender.

On this bus ride in particular, I had the nudge to send a song to my newly made friend

Kaitlyn Ramsay

. It was a song that had very serendipitously came to me shortly after my grandma passed away (a story for another time). But it was officially mine and my grandma’s song. A few minutes after I sent the song to Kaitlyn, I got a text from my mom saying another one of my relatives had died. It was the husband of my grandma’s sister. Now, my grandma, great aunt, and great uncle had passed away all in the span of a few months. It was unbelievable. I started crying silently to myself, as the three hour bus ride had just begun and it was rather quiet. The bus was full of mostly young women who appeared to all be travelers, aside from the older Thai woman sitting next to me.

She was quiet and reserved, and there was something warm about her. I particularly enjoyed sitting next to her after receiving the news that another one of my relatives had just died.

Over the course of the ride, I watched her as I looked out the window. I noticed how every time we passed a big Buddha statue in the mountains, she would bow. I admired her practice and her deep respect. I felt safe sitting next to her.

She never once looked at me, at least not that I could tell. After all, I couldn’t speak Thai beyond “hello” and “thank you,” and I had no idea if she could speak any English. But at the end of the ride she pulled out her purse and grabbed two pieces of chocolate. She then took one of the pieces and passed it over to me, looked me in the eyes, and smiled softly.

I was shocked— I didn’t even think this lady had noticed me. I took the chocolate graciously, and thanked her with the biggest smile. I wondered if she had noticed my crying, or could sense my loss.

We never exchanged words beyond my thank you and her nodding. Still, it was one of the most meaningful interactions that lives on in my heart.

Another time I was feeling particularly bleh while traveling through Scotland. I decided to go into town and buy myself a pint of Ben and Jerry’s icecream because, duh! When I returned back to the hostel, I realized there was no freezer and this pint was in need of another hungry human.

One of the hostel workers was sitting at the table, and I asked if she wanted to split my pint with me. She excitedly said yes, and we started chowing away. In all honesty, I hadn’t expected much of a chat. We had interacted briefly a few times before, and my insecurities had gotten the best of me— I thought she didn’t like me, or wasn't particularly interested in talking to guests. But I was very wrong. She was open and outgoing, friendly and silly. The conversation quickly made a turn for depth, my favorite (hehe, scorpio here!) We talked all things healing, spirituality, and trauma healing. Afterwards, I realized I had made a true friend.

A few days later I was staying in different accommodation, when she reached out and asked if I wanted to go for a walk in a local park. We met up and chatted for hours, alternating between giggling relentlessly and being serious and soft. She told me about a local somatic silent disco workshop, in which ended up being one of the most profound spiritual experiences I’ve ever had. To this day, we are still connected and I can’t wait to cross paths with her again.

Another time I arrived at a hostel late— like one or two in the morning kind of late. Even though I was exhausted, I was awake at five AM and couldn’t fall back asleep. At first I was frustrated, because I’m a sleep girly through and through. But then I had a thought— maybe I woke up early to experience something specific.

So I rolled out of bed and into the lobby to make a cup of tea. There sat an older woman with gorgeous grey hair and bright red glasses— broken, mind you. She was sure magic. After chatting for a few minutes over our respective warm morning drinks, she offered to read my astrology chart. The day before I had asked the Universe for a sign that I was on the right path. I was feeling particularly lost and confused, and was just starting down the path of content creation.

As she looked over my chart, she said I’d be a writer and would be successful in my career. I would work online and reach people that way. (But the kicker… I’d start seeing that success around the age of thirty 💀)

Regardless, I was stoked. It was just the sign of confirmation I needed. It turns out her son and I share the same birth date— Halloween. It also turns out it was Beltane in Scotland, the holiday opposite of Halloween / Samhain. She asked if I wanted to go to the Beltane celebration together. I happily said yes.

Another time I was sitting alone in a cafe in Thailand, post vaccines for the trip I was planning to Vietnam (but never made it on.) Feeling rather hot, uncomfortable, and sickly— I chowed down on my favorite Thai dish (Khao soi) and watched a gentle rain storm pass over. The wind chimes did their thing, and I sat in stillness until I heard a bubbly voice echo from below.

“Hellloooo!” She nearly sang. “Is there food here?”

The next thing I heard was footsteps, and the next thing I saw was bright red hair. She looked just like the character out of Brave. She sat at a table across from me, but soon enough, we were sitting together. We sat chatting for hours, in fact until the restaurant closed. We were kindered souls, on similar paths. Both on a long term traveling endeavor, learning, expereincing. Collecting life data and piecing together the crafts of our callings. Both interested in trauma healing, meditation, mental health, and spirituality— it was a match made in Heaven. She almost hadn’t come to the restaurant, but something urged her to walk down the rather random alley way— just as I had. We now knew what the nudge was all about.

We spent the next several days together: chatting, laughing, conspiring. I eventually went to visit her in a neighboring city a few weeks later. We shared a hostel bed, meditated in the morning, moseyed the night market, ate our favorite mochi, and had endless chats. It was like a sleepover from my childhood. Girlhood at its finest.

When we parted ways, my driver watched us say goodbye. “Best friends?” He asked with a tint of nostalgia in his eye.

“We just met, actually.” And then I paused. “But… yes.”

And finally… one of my personal faves— yet another serendipitous hostel experience. I met a gorgeous gal who had been volunteering at the hostel I had been staying at. When we first met, we chatted away on all things healing, travel, and self discovery. We discovered we were both writers, and it turns out— she had written a whole freaking book.

“Want to read it?” She had asked me, in response to my excitement for her. I knew what that question really suggested: She trusted me. To read her sacred, not yet published work. I was stunned with honor. Talk about special.

Like, this woman had created a whole fiction book— a whole fantasy world of complex and multifaceted characters. And guess what? One of the best pieces of fiction I have ever read.

Now, she’s one of my favorite people I’ve ever met— and a beloved digital penpal of mine, too. She’s one of those souls that are just so warm and bright— someone so fiercely connected to their heart. A constant source of inspiration, and a brilliant writer I guarantee you too, will know someday. 😉

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In all honesty, I could go on. In all honesty, I really want to. But for now, I’ll bring this essay to a close. I hope you’ve enjoyed my strangers stories, and found a remembrance in the sacredness of connecting with someone you don’t yet know. Perhaps someday I’ll write a book about all my meaningful interactions with strangers. And when I start the interview series, well, you’ll certainly be the first to know about it 😉

Thanks for reading along and for being a part of the (Un)becoming community. I’m really grateful for your presence here. If anything resonated with your own journey and experiences, I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

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With big hugs and big love,

Sydney Xx

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