Familiar Strangers and the Distance That Keeps Us Connected (Productive Flourishing Pulse #511)

Earlier this week, I helped an elderly woman get up and into her house after she fell while gardening.

Her house is enroute to the coffee shop and I've walked past it thousands of times at this point. We've waved and said good morning, but fell into the social contract of being familiar strangers.

Familiar strangers are people you “know” through repeated encounters, but have no idea who they really are. Most of the time, you don't know their names and they don't know yours.

I've been thinking about familiar strangers a lot since then. The concept resurfaced for me when I read Me, Myself, and Us earlier this year, and it's connected to my contemplation about our deepening political animosity, social fabric, and the role each of us plays in the quiet, communal work of rebuilding civil society.

What fascinates me are the choice moments to move from familiar strangers to first-name “neighbors” or “acquaintances.” Transitions are fascinating to me; relational transitions, even moreso.

The day I helped Vicky get into her house, I also met Katya, her next-door neighbor. Katya contacted Vicky's family and checked on Vicky later. I've seen Katya and watched her adorable daughter grow up in timeslices of moments multiple times per month. We'd wave and Katya had let me pass in front of or behind her car as she'd been coming in and out of her driveway.

The reason both are now first-name neighbors is because there was a self-evident reason for us to know each other's names. On the way to the coffee shop, instead of just giving Katya the neighborly wave as she was watering her plants, which we'd done scores of times, I said “Good morning, Katya.” And we shared a few Vicky updates.

There's an elderly man who goes on a brisk walk every morning around the same time that I encounter at least three times a week, despite us not knowing each other's schedules. We know each other's patterns, clothes, gaits, and body types, but not each other's names.

For the past few months, I've thought about stopping him to at least get his name. I see him more than I see any of my neighbors or friends; it feels weird not to know his name.

I feel especially called to learn the names of older people in my community, for they're often forgotten about and slowly fade away. It comes from the same impulse as learning Derek's name.

There are a few couples and people at the coffee shop who I've been on the fence with for a few quarters now. I don't want the coffee shop to become a place where I'm negotiating three or four conversations while I'm trying to write. A wave and good morning are plenty good for now, yet I remain curious about when or if the transition to first-name is going to happen and why.

I'll give Jeff, another coffee shop regular, a hi and nod before I leave. I know he comes to sort his email and think about what he's going to do at Mozilla today. And also that this is his refuge from dad-land for a bit, as he has a new daughter to go with the adorable daughter, who I've also seen grow up in time slices. I don't know his daughters' names or his wife's name because I haven't wanted to interrupt them during family time.

Perhaps just wanting to know and see his life is sufficient enough reason to ask and trade a few more familiar strangers (his wife and daughters) for first-name neighbors.

At the same time, as I think about what Jeff and I are here to do, I appreciate the unconscious paradigm of familiar strangers and whatever status Jeff and I are in. They allow us to be with and around other people we know we're safe with, without having the standing obligation to engage in a certain way every time we see each other.

We don't need to make familiar strangers or first-name neighbors more than they are. They don't have to become friends or projects.

That distance, oddly enough, gives us the space to be different, live life in our own way, and still belong.

~Charlie

Who are the familiar strangers that create the quiet backdrop of your routine? How do these repeated encounters, even without names or deeper conversation, contribute to your sense of belonging and community?

We'd love to hear what's coming up for you.

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Sometimes the path to stronger community starts with the smallest gestures — a morning greeting, a moment of presence, or simply choosing to see the people around us.

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