Walking across 9^th Street, I noticed an elderly woman using her cane to move something closer to her from one of the green spaces that dot the sidewalks in Greenwich Village. I asked if I could help, and she kindly accepted.

There was nothing of hers she was trying to fetch – it was trash thrown in with the plants, which upset her deeply. As it turns out, she used to maintain the plantings in these spaces in her younger years. She continues that effort now by keeping them clean.

I reached down and picked up some paper, which she told me to put into the small bag she was carrying. I saw more hidden in the greenery and again she held out her bag. I then saw a very small crumpled bag in with the plants and instantly recoiled a bit when I felt how heavy it was. But no need – it was a discarded half a sandwich and not what I feared.

We spoke a bit about how inconsiderate some people can be. And then she got the biggest smile and asked if I have been to the community garden at the Jefferson Market Library – she had just come from there. That garden is a favorite of mine – and that was the delightful subject we shared as we thanked each other and said our goodbyes.

The next day I felt terrible that I didn’t offer to take the bag of trash from her. I think it might have been because she was clearly in charge and I followed her lead. She knew what she wanted and set about doing it. She told me what help she needed, and I simply followed her directions.

Just maybe, throwing away the “fruits” of her labors was an act she needed to close this experience. I think there is a balance between helping others and empowering them. I hope that I managed to do both well.

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There is absolutely no reason behind the choice of this photo other than the fact that I laugh each time I look at it. Then again, enabling laughter just might be the perfect reason!

This week I felt a nudge to share “postscripts” to three recent posts. Links to the full posts are at the bottom of each section.

Redefining Success & Failure

This July post gave me an opportunity to think through how I might grow this community on Substack. What came to me in a flash of insight was to talk to subscribers and get to know them on a deeper level. Of course I would want a conversation!

As part of the post, I asked subscribers if they’d be interested in having a call with me. Four people responded and I could not have been happier with the experience!

There was no agenda for these calls. Prior to speaking, I had known each of them only through their posts and the comments we shared with each other. One goes back to my very first post over two years ago, and that makes me very, very happy!

Each conversation was unique, each person was fascinating – and I loved every minute! Curiosity led the way and laughter abounded. In many ways, it felt like I was connecting with old friends, and our conversations flowed.

We spoke about everything except Substack, with one exception. I mentioned to one of these wonderful people that I struggled to align my writing with a niche – something we are all advised to do.

Since I write about intentionally honoring human interaction, she suggested that my niche is humans, and I absolutely love this! It feels freeing. Humans are, indeed, my target audience. And dogs, of course. They can listen to the audio.

These four calls have allowed me to know a subset of very real, very different people who enjoy reading what I write. I am so grateful that they so generously shared their time with me. And now I find myself talking to them as I write, continuing our conversation.

Resting Bitch Face & Other Indignities of Life

This June post was prompted by catching a view of myself on a Zoom call and being horrified by what I saw – Resting Bitch Face. I suggested that smiling was a solution – and one that offered other benefits, as well.

In this postscript, I want to confirm that smiling really does erase Resting Bitch Face (RBF) – and it continues to make me feel happier. I’ve been on multiple Zoom calls lately and not once did I catch a glance at myself and see anything other than a pleasant smile.

As I pointed out in the post, I am not suggesting a crazed Joker-like smile. I am suggesting one that is more like the Mona Lisa – a hint of a smile, if you will. A smile of well-being.

I’ve been going through a challenging time, and I will confirm that simply smiling has lifted my spirits and is helping me move through it. Smiling has not resolved this challenge, but it has continued to lighten my spirit and allow me to feel peace. That is a huge benefit – especially for something so simple.

A Random Conversation with a Delightful NYC Plumber

In April I wrote about a conversation with a plumber as we both waited for an elevator in my apartment building. After a very pleasant exchange, he told me that the great majority of people he meets will not respond to his greeting, no matter how many times they passed each other on longer projects. I find that incredibly sad.

I closed the post asking, “Do you gift others with random hellos?” If you are still on the fence about doing that, you may enjoy reading an NPR article on just how beneficial it can be: “Why saying hello to strangers can be good for you.”

The article states that when we expand our circle of interaction to include strangers and casual acquaintances, there is improved happiness and well-being, lessened feelings of isolation, and increased feelings of connection and community. These “weak ties” are just as important and potentially more beneficial than the few “strong ties” we share with friends.

The “weak ties” in my life are all around me. They are the people working at my favorite farm stands at the farmers market, and those working at other establishments I frequent. They are the people I talk with standing in line, on the subway, in the park. Some I see often, and some I will most probably never see again.

Individually and collectively, they add richness to my life. I will always say hello to strangers. Will you?

Note to Subscribers

Please let me know if you have interest in joining me in a conversation – our own Random Conversation. These will be scheduled through the end of August, and I may well offer them again in the future.

If yes, please send me a DM or let me know in the comments. If you received this in your Inbox, you can reply to the email.

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What do you say to someone who is going through the fear and pain of watching her husband slowly die before her eyes? What do you say when she finds herself all alone for the first time after sixty years of marriage? What do you say when her estranged child pours salt on her already raw wounds?

These are not hypothetical questions. The subject of this evolution of pain is a friend I have known for decades. She was my acting agent when I first moved to Connecticut, and we quickly became friends.

Time passed, I stopped acting, she closed her agency, I moved to the other end of the state, and then even further away to NYC. We maintained our friendship mostly through birthdays and holidays. Until she shared her husband’s diminishing health.

It took me a lifetime to become comfortable responding to these kinds of questions. I habitually froze, not knowing what I could possibly say to make someone feel better. And then I realized there was probably nothing I could say. But I could listen – and that I did.

I go into a meditative state of sorts when engaged with the deep listening this level of communication requires, and become comfortable in the moment. My entire focus is on what I’m hearing in the words, not hearing in the silences, and how that feels. These are conversations of the heart.

With this friend, I have been able to occasionally offer a perspective based on our many years together, and I’ll sometimes ask a question. But mostly I simply listen. I witness her fear and her pain, and I hold a space in which she can say what she must.

And the result? So often she says, “You understand me,” and she thanks me for listening. In her immediate world, no one listens so she holds in the pain. My heart breaks for her, and I listen more.

Listening and allowing someone to unburden themselves is a gift we can give each other. Simple, yet profound.

A Reflection

I am writing this with half an eye on the calendar as the second anniversary of the passing of one of my closest friends inches its way to me.

We had what seems like a lifetime of being there for each other, of listening without judgment as one of us needed to ease a weight we carried or needed to understand something that we could not untangle on our own. And sparking joy – oh, how we loved that!

She gifted me with a call from her hospital bed on one of her last evenings. We laughed together, shared beautiful memories, left nothing unsaid that needed to be spoken. And throughout all, we listened, we cared, we felt loved.

A Question

Have you experienced the gentle power of being deeply listened to without judgment? I’d welcome hearing how that affected you in the comments.

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I stood near the fountain at Washington Square Park, catching up with a friend of mine who is a tarot reader there. As often happens, a small group of people came up to him, and we paused our conversation.

One person came forward and asked a few questions about what was being offered. I am terrible at guessing ages, but I will guess he was in his early twenties. Mostly I remember his big engaging smile and his dancing eyes.

He thanked my friend for the information and said they had actually stopped to ask for directions to the Empire State Building. I pointed through the arch and said, “It’s straight up Fifth Avenue.”

We chatted a bit longer and learned they were visiting from Greece – a delightful revelation that took some coaxing for him to share. His smile broadened as he said he wanted to ask us a question. To my great surprise, his question was,

I responded before I could even think about it and asked, “Do we need to hate other countries?”

His eyes stopped dancing, his smile waned, he looked crestfallen. I felt his discomfort and regretted being the cause of it. Then an elder of the group, perhaps the father of our new acquaintance, stepped forward and said with a what-can-you-do shrug, “He’s a teenager.”

And off they walked, heading east. I called out that the Empire State Building was north and pointed through the arch. The group’s new spokesperson responded that they were going to SoHo first, and asked if they were headed in the right direction. I answered that they were not - SoHo was south of us.

And off they went, still heading East.

The question “Dancing Eyes” asked stays with me. If you ask about hate, you might be able to compile examples of hatred. And then what? Share hate together?! I feel my heart tighten just thinking about that.

Most questions I ask skew to the positive.

If we had spoken with this group a bit longer, I’d love to know what they have liked best about their visit so far, what other parts of the state and the country they are exploring, what countries have been their favorite to visit. Each one opens a conversation we can build on.

Not all questions are created equal.

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I stood outside the entrance to the clinamen installation at the Park Avenue Armory in New York City. As the exhibit guidance suggested, I paused there, settled into the moment, and listened. A few soft voices bubbled up from behind me, and the sounds of the exhibit could not yet be heard.

And then I entered the space.

The Park Avenue Amory is a beautiful historic building. The Drill Hall is massive and seems to allow for endless transformation. I have been awed experiencing each of the exhibits and performances I have seen there over time – all created within what is simply a huge, empty room.

The Experience

The sound of porcelain bowls playing in the water rose and got louder the further I walked into the hall. Three pools were arranged on a platform, surrounded by people sitting, standing, lying down, walking. There was one light high overhead, softly illuminating the space – a large circle similar in size to the of the pools of water. The color reminded me of moonlight, but that’s not quite right.

Each pool is 40 feet in diameter and 14 inches deep. There are nearly 800 porcelain bowls of varying sizes, set in motion by water motors.

I sat at multiple vantage points around the pools, letting the sounds wash over me, watching the patterns the floating bowls made as they travelled together. Each pool had its own pattern of movement.

I recognized the tone of the sound but could not quite place it. Buddhist temple bells kept coming to mind, as did the sound of what I imagine to be windchimes on the water – sometimes melodic, sometimes discordant, always beautiful.

The exhibit guidance I mentioned was part of five guided meditations posted on the exhibit website. They were designed by Adrian Bueno, Co-Founder and Guidance Teacher of Mindful Harlem, a community meditation and wellness center in Harlem.

In the first meditation, “The Sound that is Already Here: A meditation for mindfully entering the space,” Bueno writes,

Let the sound come to you. Don’t name it. Don’t judge it. Just let it arrive and pass, the way the weather moves through.

And later in “Listening Without Trying: A meditation for letting go,” he writes,

Let the vibration of the bowls move through you. Sound exists only in the present tense.

When you are truly hearing it, so do you.

Attention is not a discipline. It is where the mind rests when it stops running from itself and lets go.

Beautiful – and applicable far beyond this installation.

I wish I could say that I was peacefully immersed in the sound and movement. Yes, that came, but I also allowed myself to get very distracted by people using the space to catch up with each other – at pretty much full voice. They stood out in an environment where silent reverence seemed to be the norm.

Attention was clearly something I needed to learn, and just maybe that was part of the lesson of the bowls. I could focus on discordancy, or I could focus on the beautiful experience before me. Ultimately, I chose the latter.

A Deeper Meaning

I was drawn to learn more about the artist and his intent – and the meaning of the word clinamen.

The Park Avenue Armory online introduction to the artist, Céleste Boursier-Mougenot, describes him as “equal parts artist, musician, and composer.” His career spans all three.

The Latin word clinamen goes back to Epicurean physics and is a super interesting deep dive. Phillip Mitsis, a professor of Ancient Greek and Roman philosophy and literature at New York University, writes,

“In Epicurean physics, atoms fall eternally through the void. Yet if they moved only in perfect parallel lines, nothing would ever touch. No collisions, no combinations, no worlds.”

He goes on to say the philosopher Lucretius proposed,

“At some indeterminate moment ... atoms deviate ever so slightly from their expected trajectories. This minute deviation, the clinamen, allows matter to encounter matter. It is one of the strangest concepts in ancient philosophy. An infinitesimal disturbance from which creation itself becomes possible.”

If there is no random deviation of atoms, there is no creation of anything new. I saw this as bowls gently broke away from small groupings and gracefully touched one another – allowing us to see and hear the act of creation in the moment.

A Reflection

From the Armory’s clinamen website:

“Each moment in the installation’s life is unique, offering a sensory and temporal experience that is constantly renewing itself and in which each spectator is invited to listen, contemplate, and explore their relationship to time and sound as an individual and a collective experience.”

Isn’t this also a description of how we might live our lives? We easily become fixated in a moment of time, often a trying or sad moment, and stop it from moving on.

Change is a constant in life, and we can choose to focus on what is being created in this moment. So very often, it is renewal that follows – if we allow it. And of course we do that collectively. With the possible exception of those who chose a hermetic life, we live our lives in concert with others.

And what a beautiful concert it can be!

A Question

What do you think about clinamen – as art, as philosophy? I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the Comments.

NOTES

Five guided meditations designed by Adrian Bueno for clinamen can be found here. Bueno is a Mindful Harlem co-founder and guidance teacher. More about him and Mindful Harlem can be found below the meditations.

The Park Avenue Armory online introduction to clinamen can be found here.

For a deeper dive into the philosophy behind clinamen, “How Matter Begins to Listen; clinamen in Physics, Philosophy, and Céleste Boursier-Mougenot’s Art” by Phillip Mitsis can be found here.

And once again, a link to the CBS Sunday Morning segment on clinamen, “Grace notes: Art as a reverie of gentle sounds,” can be found here.

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I’ve been hurting these past few weeks, and that has me thinking.

After two years of slow and steady growth on Substack, new subscribers have slowed and unsubscribes have increased. On an intellectual level, I fully understand it. After all, I am guilty of unsubscribing to thirty or so publications recently since I simply could not keep up with all of them.

I felt awful and immediately posted an apology on Notes.

In the whole scheme of things, the number of subscribers I lost was probably within an expected norm. But it still hurts. And it prompts me to question and reflect.

When I listen to my heart, I know that I have not failed (more on that in a moment) – so accepting defeat and giving up is not something I am considering. At worst, I had an unrealistic hope or expectation, and that can be recalibrated.

What does success look like?

It is hard to disengage from the Substack noise machine that pushes for a definition of success that is tied to the number of paid subscribers. Substack only gets paid when writers get paid, so of course this is an important part of their thinking – and rightly so.

I don’t have a paid subscription offering, so is success even possible for me?

Is it time to call “uncle” and stop publishing, or reinvent what I offer? Or just maybe this is an opportunity to reconsider what success looks like. For me, it’s never been about money, though I welcome the possibility. Writing is a creative outlet that allows me to connect with like-minded people and share life-affirming ways of being.

What I have always wanted is to build a community, and I believe that has happened. I base that achievement on the rich and thoughtful interaction with readers who comment on my posts.

Reader comments fill my heart each week. They add to the conversation in deep and meaningful ways. Readers have also shared the most incredible feedback on my work and how it affects them, for which I am deeply grateful.

One said she reads my posts because they make her happy. Another told me they give her a sense of hope. Another shared that a little piece of her faith in humanity is restored each time she reads my work.

Additionally, two people ended our recent conversations by saying, “Keep writing.” What gentle words of encouragement, exactly when I needed them.

I cannot tell you how much these statements affect me. They touch me to my core. For me, this is what success looks like – and it’s an empowering reframe.

So, if allowing a space for this incredible community to form and flourish is my marker of success, then the choice is clearly to stay the course – with a bit of nuance.

Staying the course does not mean never changing. Instead, it opens paths for growth, and continuing to learn and grow is important to me. I would welcome having more incredible readers adding their thoughtful and inspiring voices to our community.

But how to do that.

Bringing you into the conversation

As I consider how to best grow this community, my thought is to turn to you. I want to get to know you better and, with that, how my posts can better serve you. It’s not surprising that I gravitate to initiating a conversation.

I am not in any way asking for a commitment and I will not hold you to your response. This is something that is still in the thinking stage, and not at all ready to roll out. But it is at the stage of asking for input.

Perhaps you might enjoy knowing me a bit better – or you might have questions about anything I write about. I’ll be happy to offer my perspective or share my experience related to an area of interest to you. Of course it would come with a big dose of positivity. After all, that is the lens through which I view life.

This would not represent a reinvention, but more of an expansion that I can offer to my subscribers. And that feels right.

I would welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

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I’ll be back next Wednesday…!

Two years ago, I wrote about and questioned the concept of America as a “melting pot” along with my little corner of its exploration. Just maybe the choice of metaphor has been part of the issue.

Once again, CBS Sunday Morning has inspired me. A link to “Only in America: The rise of Viet-Cajun cuisine” can be found here. It’s a very short, mouth-watering video. I sure hope Crawfish & Noodles finds its way to NYC – and very soon!

So those metaphors. Francis Lamb, the host of The Splendid Table on Public Radio, offered that a mixed salad would be more apt.

“It’s all these ingredients and they’re all together, but you can still see their individuality. But the whole thing is a unified whole.”

To the greater point of the segment and the luscious-looking Viet-Cajun cuisine, “fusion” offers a delicious lens from which to view America.

According to Lamb,

“… the story of new fusion food is about as old as the nation itself. Really, unless you’re talking about true indigenous food, like the food of the native peoples, or arguably you’re talking about the food of Africans who were brought here against their will, then every other form of food in America is the result of something that came from somewhere else, took root here, mixed and mingled with what else was here, and that’s what created our cuisine.”

I would argue that mixing and mingling is also what made America. There is not a loss of American identity which some may fear in “melting pot” thinking. Instead, there is an ever-evolving mix of individual cultures over time creating something beautiful, alive, delicious.

Here’s the earlier post from 2024. I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

With the 4^th of July around the corner, I’ve been thinking about my American identity. I’ve had an evolving relationship with it, which has everything to do with my cultural heritage.

I grew up in Tucson, Arizona, not looking like anyone I saw outside my immediate family.  My mother told me I came home from first grade crying that everyone had blond hair but me. The blond cry was soon replaced with one begging for straight hair, prompted by the misery of rampant curls.

Looking different brought more than a longing to fit in. It also brought questions from others. Even at an early age, I remember people struggling to categorize me – label me. They asked if I was Mexican. I don’t remember any judgment in the question, people just wanted to know where I came from.

For the record, Mexicans tend to have beautiful straight black hair, not curly, and skin the color of a deep Arizona tan, not olive. There was simply no other bucket to put me in, and knowing the right bucket seemed to be important to people.

In my twenties, people started asking if I was from Europe. They couldn’t place the country, but they were convinced they knew the region. Really?!

A Bit of Family History

All four of my grandparents immigrated to the US through Ellis Island.  My father’s parents arrived from Syria, met and married in Ohio, and raised their family there.

My mother’s parents married in Russia and had their first child there before settling in Ohio, where their family grew. This latter set of grandparents were Jewish.

My father often proclaimed that I was Syrian. The Russian / Jewish half disappeared in his version of my story. He had pride in his heritage, as well as pride in being an American.

Both my parents bought into the metaphor of the US as a melting pot – a place where immigrants add their culture to all who came before them. Today I wonder, did we melt? 

Becoming an American

Apart from New York City, my home for the past 14 years, the question of where I came from has followed me. I’d respond that I was an American and was then asked where my parents were from. Ohio. 

I knew what they were asking, but the question made me uncomfortable.  I just wanted to fit in, and people kept pointing out that I did not. Finally, I settled into a canned response about my heritage.

One of the most bizarre experiences came when I lived in Los Angeles. A man leaving a restaurant as I was entering stopped in the doorway, looked at me with incredulity, and asked where I was from.  It was a painful interaction.

Let me note that I never felt that people were belittling me or negatively judging me. There was simply this need to understand why I looked different from others. It was as if they would know me by the box I sat in, which is simply not true.

When I arrived in South Africa after living in Los Angeles, I was again asked where I was from. By that time, I had given up and said I was half Syrian / half Russian Jew.  And then something remarkable happened. I heard, “Oh, you’re American!”

My accent gave me away, and suddenly I was in a brand new bucket!

I have since had the opportunity to visit multiple countries around the world for work and for pleasure.  I love immersing myself in each of the cultures I have experienced. When overseas, I am once again an American. No one asks about my grandparents.

Labels

My identity grappling may seem an odd topic for one who writes about intentionally honoring communication and the mindset that enables it. The connection between the two is all about labels.

I am hopeful that I have been questioned out of curiosity, though how the question was asked could benefit from some work. Where labels turn dangerous is when they are used in place of seeing us in the fullness of our unique selves.

Those labels can also appear in self-talk. We tell ourselves things like I am old, stupid, fat – and we sit in those buckets of our own making and see nothing else.

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Reflecting on the Melting Pot

I had never questioned the metaphor until writing this post. Was the intent that we blend into one homogenized soup?  Or was it that generations of marriage outside of each immigrant community would break down the dominance of any one ethnicity?

Or maybe it was just marketing.

What I know is that I am more than a sum of my parts – as are we all.  I can have my heritage and still be an American. All our families came here from somewhere else in the recent or distant past.  That’s the basis of this country’s unique diversity, and that is something to celebrate.

Happy 4^th of July to my fellow Americans and to all who celebrate with us!

I stood at my favorite organic farm at the Union Square Farmers Market, selecting the perfect Japanese cauliflower to take home with me. (This is sometimes labeled as flowering cauliflower.) The market started selling them a few years ago, and I have loved them since the very beginning.

A woman with a kind smile stopped for a moment and started chatting about how much she likes them. And so began our conversation.

She said she wished they had a longer season and told me about her two most recent cooking creations – one paired with potatoes in an omelet, and one combined with leeks, peas and pistachios over pasta. And then she took out her phone and showed me photos – which looked both beautiful and delicious!

I told her I’ve been adding frozen baby artichokes to my mixed vegetables and mentioned buying them at Whole Foods. She thought about that a moment and said that sounded very good, and then added that she is a Trader Joe’s fan and does not like shopping at Whole Foods.

As she walked away after we said goodbye, she turned and added with an impish smile, “But I still shop there.” I have a feeling that artichokes are in her culinary future – just as adding pistachios is in mine.

For my part, I am not a fan of Trader Joe’s. Isn’t it refreshing when a difference of opinion is met collaboratively – where there is no right or wrong, where an opinion is something to be explored, where deliciousness is the overriding consideration?

Delicious food and experiences are at their best when shared – even if only in words.

Have you had an interesting random conversation lately? I’d welcome hearing about it in the comments.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

If you have read my posts for a while, you know I often find the most interesting content on CBS Sunday Morning. Two Sundays ago, they aired a story about the Human Library, which was created in Copenhagen in 2000. How have I not known about this?!

The Human Library offers a platform for people to come together and learn about each other in a safe environment. This can be in person or virtually, with offerings across 80+ countries.

Visitors check out a “book,” and that book is a human who is available to speak about an area of their life that can often be controversial. Perhaps it’s a psychological diagnosis, perhaps it’s an ethnicity, and more.

From their website:

“... the Human Library works to create a safe framework for personal conversations that can help to challenge prejudice, ... aim to help rid discrimination, prevent conflicts and contribute to greater human cohesion across social, religious and ethnic divisions.”

And,

“We meet our goals by creating a special dialogue room, where taboo topics can be discussed openly and without condemnation. A place where people who would otherwise never talk find room for conversation.”

Conversations open windows to new points of view – even if just a crack.

I am reminded of a conversation I had with one of my cousins as I prepared to deliver training in Pakistan. She was an incredibly kind and loving woman. It must have been her concern for my safety that prompted her to gently express anti-Muslim bias and fear.

In response, I told her about the gentle soul who is my friend Mussarrat, a Sufi Muslim woman I met at our Appreciative Inquiry certificate program in Positive Business and Society Change. From her seat at the back of the room, she often quoted passages from Rumi to perfectly illustrate a point just shared. She brought me to tears more than anyone ever has.

My cousin was moved by what she heard, but that wasn’t enough. She responded, “But I haven’t seen Muslims like that. Maybe if I met her, I would think differently.” Her worldview was of the nameless terror she saw on the news.

My cousin would definitely have gone to the Human Library if she had known about it before she passed. I wish she had the opportunity to meet a Mussarrat of her own. That conversation would have blown the window that I cracked wide open!

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I am also reminded of a gathering I read about a handful of years ago. A woman originally from the Middle East (was she Iraqi? Palestinian?), living in NYC (was it Queens? Brooklyn?), hosted a weekly dinner for people in her neighborhood.

Her intent was to share the delicious food she grew up with and to allow people to see her and her country through a new lens. Stereotypes fell away as everyone ate and laughed together. Intimate gatherings kept growing, pulling in guests from well beyond her neighborhood. In the most delicious way, she was a catalyst for positive change.

A Reflection

I find it heartening that people want to come together to ask questions, to understand, to decide for themselves about topics of interest. I also find it heartening that safe places to experience this learning are coming forward, and that people are accepting the invitation to participate.

Suspending judgment to have deep, curious conversations can be transformative.

How fortunate to be able to enter a human library or to sit at a dinner with strangers who leave as friends. And if that structure is not readily available, we still have our voice and we can use that voice to inquire, to think for ourselves, to decide for ourselves – and to share what we learn with others. What a powerful place to be.

Questions

Would you agree to sit at a neighbors table and eat your way through an understanding of her culture? If you checked out a “book” in the Human Library, what topics would you request? I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

Notes

CBS Sunday Morning, “Checking Out the Human Library.” A link to the video can be found here.

Creating the Human Library: Fighting taboos & stigma through dialogue | Ronni Abergel | TEDxBucharest. A link to a talk by the creator of the Human Library can be found here.

“Unjudge Someone.” A link to a very short video about the Human Library can be found here.

The Human Library. A link to their website can be found here.

My previous post shared a bit about RBF, Resting Bitch Face, and my plan to stop myself from being a poster child for it. My solution was to smile it away – and I am here to tell you that smiling is working its magic. And it came with an incredible gift!

Let me step back a moment and say that I am a bit angsty mentioning my RBF-related post since three people couldn’t unsubscribe fast enough after they received my email. Fortunately, many more responded that my plight resonated with them and they laughed right along with me. I love that!

I need to mention it, however, so that I can share what I learned about RBF and my solution. 

A Realization

A few days ago, the proverbial light bulb clicked on and I finally recognized what I saw in the expression on my face when it was caught forever in a still from a Zoom call. There’s an attitude that is related to the so-called “bitch face” that I do not have. (Thankfully!) What I now know is that I saw my mother’s face from the last half of her 90s up to her passing at 101 – and it was distressing.

I have read that muscle changes and the effects of gravity over time contribute to pulling down the corners of our mouth as we age. In the last five or six years of my mother’s life, the corners of her mouth pulled so far down that her mouth formed an upside-down U. Her face no longer moved so this was the expression she lived with, and it broke my heart to see.

Seeing my own face look so very close to that of my mother in her final state of being was too much to bear. But I now understand why this hit me so hard, and that helped.

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Smiling My Way Through

As I said I would in last week’s post, I started doing an internal face check-in throughout the day, every day. Specifically, I felt my way into understanding what my mouth was doing. If I felt the muscles had gone slack, which was typically the case, I would immediately smile. Not an “I am so happy” smile. Just a simple, gentle smile – similar to the llama’s smile at the top of this post. A smile of well-being that an observer might only recognize as pleasant.

I immediately noticed how good that felt. And then the smile broadened a bit. And that felt even better.

It took about three days for a new awareness to kick in. Checking in, the smile was present more often. And then happiness snuck up on me – and that felt like blissful peace. Or is that peaceful bliss? Whichever.

This is not totally unexpected since I am a happy person by nature – but I am also navigating a trying time. My work is between projects at the moment, and I typically do not do well when I am not working. Unlike so many who have way too much on their plate, I don’t do well when I don’t have enough – nothing crazy, just “enough.”

Now in week two of my break from work, my smiling intervention has produced a solid feeling of happiness and well-being. Nothing else has changed. I am truly surprised at how happy I feel, and I believe I know why this is happening.

Stanislavski and His Connection with Happiness

My first career was as an actor. I often used to say that acting books (they were all books back in the day) offered some of the best self-help insights – and self-help or psychology books offered some of the best acting insights. An example of the former is the work of Konstantin Stanislavski.

Stanislavski was a Russian actor, director, teacher, co-founder of the Moscow Art Theatre who lived from 1863 to 1938. He found ways to allow actors to find what I will call “truth” in the roles they played. This came in response to the over-the-top performances in vogue at the time which had no connection with reality at all.

As I think about what I learned all those years ago, I believe he deeply understood the mind/body connection. One of his beliefs was that when we put our attention on an action, emotions will start to flow.

So, back to me. After three or four days of monitoring the look on my face, my repeated action to smile triggered a real emotion – happiness. There is no knot in the pit of my stomach, which normally would have appeared by now. There is only a feeling of well-being.

The way I live my life may well have skewed my results. I find joy and happiness in the smallest of things throughout each day – the beauty of a flower, the song of a bird, the nuzzle of a neighborhood dog, and more. My level of happiness is literally topped up morning to night. Even so, giving attention to my smile feels different in my body – it feels more deeply grounded. I fully believe it has positively affected my normal stress reaction.

A Reflection

I do believe that genuine feelings of happiness can be created by simply smiling and feeling the enjoyment that comes from it.

And just maybe, when those feelings of peace and well-being are present, we can think more clearly to focus on the bigger learning that needs to take place. That learning enables happiness to settle deep within our bones where it becomes life-changing. If a hack can help us get there, I am all for it!

A Question

What do you think about hacking happiness? I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

The link to the RBF post that drove three people to unsubscribe is below. I hope it will bring a smile.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

I often have to look up acronyms, and RBF was a case in point when I came across it a few years back. Resting Bitch Face?! I knew I didn’t have to give that one another thought. No problem here! Ah, what a pleasant but misguided thought!

Some things sneak up on you and then you wonder how long they’ve been there hiding in plain sight. When did my neck change? And the skin on my hands and arms? I see the same face in the mirror I have always seen, but somehow that reflection is displaying more of a memory than showing the truth.

Mirrors often show us what we expect to see. I have to catch a glance by surprise to see the real me – or at least a more accurate version of me. Those glimpses mostly come from my reflection in the glass of buildings I pass as I walk through my day.

And they also come from Zoom. That one just rocked my world, and I do not mean that in a good way. I honestly did not recognize myself as I watched the recording of a session I attended. I felt a tightening in my heart when I realized who I was looking at. That woman was me!

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From Malaise to Curiosity

I sank into a feeling of malaise. Malaise is pretty much as low as I ever feel. It appears now and again, and it never lasts long. Often, I can sleep it off and wake up feeling myself again. This one lasted longer. Maybe it’s the proximity to my birthday, but I don’t think so. I love celebrating my birthday and, quite honestly, I am not fixated on age – mine or anyone else’s!

Then I became curious. Why was I making this particular face – and how can I stop doing that?

I noticed that my expression changes when I am thinking about something – especially so when I am deeply concentrating. In fact, I can feel my mouth inching to RBF as I write since I am clearly thinking about this. And then the proverbial lightbulb lit - smiling is an immediate fix.

When I am in conversation with someone, smiles spontaneously appear. As I walk, I started reminding myself to allow the smile I feel in my heart to show itself on my expression. On Zoom, well, I just may need to keep the camera turned off until I reset my facial muscles.

Smiling My Way Back

Curing RBF appears to have become a big business opportunity. Of course it has!

My curiosity led me to the not-so-great-anymore-Google, where a recommendation was to read about its morbidity rate. Thankfully, the reference was to Rat-Bite Fever – which, by the way, has a morbidity rate of 7-10%. Resting Bitch Face appears to be at zero, at least for now.

For the face variety of RBF, there are recommendations from injectables to face lifts. These are an easy “no” for me. I’ll just learn to smile while concentrating. I’m not referring to the crazy Joker-type smile of a lunatic, just a pleasant sort of Mona Lisa-type smile while I retrain the muscles of my face.

We will see how I do on my next Zoom call – if I turn on the camera.

Bonus Thought

Did you know you can hear a smile? It’s true! I have been doing voiceovers for decades now, and the first thing I was taught was to smile. It changes the sound of your words.

And in the spirit of fake it till you make it, I cannot wear a smile and still experience malaise. Instead, my heart starts to open and I feel a flood of well-being.

Who knew a smile could be so powerful?!

A Reflection

It is amazing how the small, petty stuff can drive us to distraction. I am quite sure I am not the only one affected.

I am aware that there are bigger issues here than RBF – the face, not the rat bites. My mother’s face was far too often filled with a look of pure negativity. To think I wore even a hint of that led me to a very uncomfortable place. But I am not my mother – and I am eternally grateful for that!

I am also very aware that I just have to laugh – at myself, at my angst, at this RBF craziness. Laughter is one of my default ways to feel better when life gets me down. I wasn’t able to fully sleep off my malaise, but smiling and laughing as I wrote this post is getting me there.

A Question

How do you work through inner crazies when they arrive? I’d welcome reading what you find helpful in the comments.

There’s no new post this week. Instead, I have for you one of my favorite Random Conversations, posted on Substack May 22, 2024. Its message is more timely than ever.

We continue to live in times of fractured communication. Often that means we don’t see each other as we truly are, and often that means that we are not seen either. Embracing the Zulu greeting of sawubona reminds us that we are unique, multifaceted beings.

I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

The Zulu greeting sawubona has been on my mind. I thought it was Zulu for “hello” when I lived in South Africa, and only learned its greater meaning years after my return home.

“I see you” was one translation I heard. The response was commonly translated as “I am seen.”  More recently I learned a second interpretation: “We see you.”  The response is Yebo, sawubona: “Yes, we see you, too.”

We?

A short video by Orland Bishop, the founder and director of the Shade Tree Multicultural Foundation in Los Angeles, explains that “we” includes me, my ancestors, my spiritual self – a multitude of complexity that I embody when I see you and prepare to talk with you.  When you respond that you see me, too, you are seeing that complex version of me through a filter of your own complexity.

Bishop says,

“Seeing is a dialogue. … It is an invitation to participate in each other’s life.”

I love that.  It is open and inclusive. It’s a coming together that is all too often lost in what has become a time of fractured communication. 

We Contain Multitudes

Beyond my ancestors and spiritual self, my interpretation of sawubona expands further.  I am the sum of all my life experiences, plus more. Younger versions of myself at different points of my life are still with me – including the little girl who never fit in.

The totality of who I am includes a blend of my greatest successes and biggest disappointments, experiences from my childhood to today, my hopes and aspirations for the future.  They are all present with me when I am in conversation with another, and I look for the same in them.

In doing that, I start to see a holistic view of others. What a gift to see each other in our entirety, and especially to do so from within our awareness of our own fullness. In this way, we honor each other.

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Curiosity

Sawubona is an antidote to the labels we put on each other as a way to bucket people by political beliefs, where we live, what we do for a living, and more.

Labels limit our perception and then lead us to assumptions of what those labels mean.  Human complexity cannot be reduced to a label.

Can we move beyond this limited lens and see each other in our totality? Absolutely! I believe it starts with curiosity.

Curiosity helps us see the uniqueness of each other while understanding our common bonds. It helps us gain a deep understanding, enabling us to see underneath the surface to understand what is coloring the words being spoken.

I am not referring to faux curiosity. That is the one that feigns interest in an effort to entrap someone in a belief that the “listener” then uses to judge and deride them. I grew up with that one, and I know it is not real.

True curiosity is driven by the need to understand – not to condemn. When we see each other in our full complexity, we can reach new levels of understanding.

Freedom

In his video, Bishop says that seeing in this way empowers us to explore our mutual potential in life. It also raises the question, “How do I have to be as a human being for someone else to be free?” He goes on to say.

“Freedom must be a mutual gift from one human being to another, recognizing that if I limit one person’s freedom, I limit my own.”

Reflecting on his statement, it occurs to me that freedom is the ultimate gift we can give each other. Freedom to be heard, accepted, understood.  Freedom to be seen in our entirety and to know that we are valued.

In the spirit of sawubona, we see you. Who is the you that sees me?

Orland Bishop’s short video may be viewed here.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

I had a thought as I walked in my neighborhood this past week. Building on my post about embracing my inner flâneur,1 it occurred to me that it would be wonderful to have you walk with me.

Each day unfolded into quite a mixed bag of sorts – mostly good. I’ve been trying to find a through-line – something that connects individual snippets into a cohesive whole. It occurs to me that just maybe the picture that forms is an experience of my world, a view through my lens of positivity, a window into who I am.

Let’s take a metaphorical walk together and explore.

Disaster

The week started with a computer disaster. A Microsoft update corrupted Windows 11 and I could not get past a forever-spinning circle. Microsoft was not helpful. I’ll come back to that. In desperation, I opted for help from the Geek Squad, which required leaving my laptop with them overnight.

Cutting to the chase, as they say, the Geek Squad was great! They wiped my computer clean (the thought of which still terrifies me), gave me a new Windows 11 operating system, and restored all the major elements of my computer life. I couldn’t have been happier with their work – and their patience with a whole lot of unhappy customers.

The person ahead of me at the Geek Squad started describing my same problem. I later asked one of the Squad how many she had seen with this issue since the update went out. She thought about it and said I was the fifth person that day. The fifth?! And that was only one location in only one rather large city.

And here’s the point about Microsoft that I wanted to come back to. I discovered that they rolled out this update in April and it had the same effect. Why would they roll it out again in May without fixing it?! One of the Squad explained that Microsoft used to roll out updates to a test site, but they stopped doing that. Well, thank you, Microsoft, for saving yourself a few dollars and wreaking havoc in my life!

My trust is deeply damaged. But I have gained respect for my local Geek Squad, and that makes me happy!

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Silver Linings

For such a rocky start, my week unfolded into something quite wonderful.

I stopped by L’Appartement 4F in the West Village for one of their tahini chocolate chip cookies. This is a tiny outpost of the original Brooklyn restaurant which started in the owners’ apartment – 4F, of course. By tiny, I mean that they have a window that opens to the sidewalk for people to walk up to.

After waiting my turn (there’s always a line), I ordered my cookie and watched as it was taken out of the warming oven for me. It was immediately followed by a second that was placed in the same bag and delivered with a big smile. (I ate them both.)

This was not a first for them. My previous visit, I asked for their sourdough baguette – my favorite baguette in the City. After placing it in a bag, I was asked if I’d also like their sourdough loaf for free. (Yes, please.) As it turns out, they start giving away what’s left as they run out of products to sell. But I have to say, they were not running out of their products when a second cookie made its way to me.

BTW, I was also gifted a free coffee soft serve from an ice cream store not far from there – a different day, a different week. The person behind the counter had gifted me one last year, as well. They are the only place I know that makes a coffee-flavored soft serve ice cream and it is delicious! He always seems genuinely pleased to see me, and that is gift enough. Though the ice cream was delicious and much appreciated.

Gifts of Laughter

I had a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday. The elevator in her building opens to a foyer which leads to a hallway to the right. As I walked to the corner, a woman rounded the same corner from the hallway and we almost bumped into each other. As I tend to do, I smiled, laughed, apologized, and went on my way.

And then I heard a disembodied voice loudly call out, “Thank you for smiling!!” I wish I could remember what either of us said after that – two voices echoing down an empty hallway. I know I burst out laughing. I think she commented on people not smiling anymore, or we need more smiling, or something like that.

Since I so recently wrote about the power of a smile and a hello, I loved this faceless exchange all the more!2

Heartening Comments

I truly love this Substack community! I have met so many incredible people and consider them to be an integral part of my life. Most of us chat via comments on one post or another, and a special few of us catch up on Zoom calls. And soon, my second in-person meeting will take place here in NYC!

The comments people leave on my posts lift my heart. They are wise and caring, and some bring me to tears. They enhance what I write, taking it to a new level. I greatly appreciate each of them!

This week (as I write) was especially profound for me. First of all, my post on Wednesday was a celebration of the birthday of a dear friend who passed in 2003 – which seems more like just yesterday to me. Not only were the commenters meeting my friend and sharing in the joy of our years together, they also shared their own deep relationships and how they celebrate them. How wonderful to read them all!!3

I often say that our words and actions create ripples that go out into the world. This week, a boat-load of beautiful ripples radiated out, and I couldn’t be happier!!

I feel very, very fortunate!

Apples on Friday

Friday always includes one of my favorite farms at the Union Square Farmers Market. They spoil me by setting aside a bag of my favorite apples (Evercrisp apples – a Fuji / Honeycrisp blend). I love knowing they will be waiting for me. Their asparagus is now in season and a bunch is also set aside for me. And throughout the summer, they always tell me when there’s something so delicious that I have to try it. They are never wrong.

How did I get so lucky?! Restaurants in the area buy directly from these farms in great quantity. I am only one person, buying a not-so-extravagant amount of food – yet they have offered me such special treatment the past 3 or 4 years, every Friday.

Another farm grows my favorite tomatoes (Purple Cherokee) and we are already talking about how “my tomatoes” are doing. (Very well in the greenhouse, thank you.) My favorite egg farm is each Wednesday – though I suppose that is more appropriately a chicken farm. They fill their dozen cartons with eggs from 4 or 5 heritage chicken breeds and they are all delicious!

I love these connections with such delightful people and their incredible offerings. It’s a feast for my soul.

A Reflection

Reading through these snippets, I am aware of what I have not mentioned. The conversation I had with a woman holding her dog. The kind couple who softly asked if I was OK after a bicyclist and I almost collided. (A rookie mistake of looking right when I should have looked left.) Eyes brightening and smiles appearing as I made my way through my neighborhood.

I could have easily held onto my Microsoft-fueled anger throughout the week and beyond. I witnessed that long-simmering reaction when my parents felt wronged. I felt it myself in years gone by. This week, however, I focused on the ease with which the issue was resolved and the peace of mind in having found a good source of help a ten-minute walk from home.

Choosing to focus on what went well, on what brings me a feeling of wholeness, on the joyous beauty and inspiration that surrounds us all waiting to be embraced, a window opened that brought so much beauty into my life. And that has made a world of difference.

A Question

What do you love about your neighborhood that you can share? I’d welcome reading your thoughts in the comments.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

It is April 30^th as I begin writing this post, and it would have been the 93^rd birthday of my dear friend Bobby Lawrence.

This birthday started with a call to South Africa, as it has for almost forty years. The first 18 years, I was able to speak directly with Bobby – and with his wife, Milly, for the majority of those years. In December of 2003, however, Bobby left this world and joined Milly, who passed a few years earlier. I’ve been calling their daughter, Vivienne, on his birthday ever since. (And Christmas, but I digress.)

There was something special – otherworldly maybe – about my friendship with Bobby. I continue to feel him all around me, especially so since he was a sculptor and four of his pieces are within easy view. And a beautiful piece by Vivienne is resting to my right. Artistic talent flourished and continues to flourish in that family!

The Beginning

We met by chance, or more to the point, we met because we were supposed to meet. My (now ex-) husband and I were living in Johannesburg. The South African economy had collapsed and we were exploring new business opportunities that might be successful for us in the US.

My agent and her husband thought we should meet Bobby, and that led to a four-hour drive to an area of the country near Kruger National Park. The rest, as they say, is history. But with a twist. I’ll come back to that.

We had a year and a half or maybe two years together in person. My now ex and I would drive to spend a weekend once a month or so with Bobby and Milly. And then there was the private time Bobby and I spent together. He came to Johannesburg every now and then to go to his foundry or to the gallery showing his work, always with me by his side. A couple times I watched in awe as molten bronze was poured into its mold.

Those days were ours, and there was much I didn’t know until years later. Lunch was always a highlight. And once the foundry and gallery work was done, he’d take me to meet some of his friends, which included one of the most famous painters in South Africa and an extraordinary expert on Southern African tribes who published multiple books on them. Fascinating people – and so talented!

And then my now ex and I left South Africa, and telephone calls replaced four-hour drives.

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The Beginning of the End

My marriage ended, and I continued what had become our tradition of calls.

I learned on one of those April 30th calls that Bobby almost died of sepsis as a result of an accident during cancer surgery. I was very upset that I hadn’t known what he was going through. I told him that I could have been of support to Milly during that time. I could have been of support to him.

He told me that Milly asked him if she should call me and he said no. He knew I would call on his birthday and he wanted to be able to tell me that he was healthy and well.

And the comment that dissolved me into tears? As he reviewed his life, not sure if he would live or die, he thought about the people who meant the most to him in his life – and there I was on the top of the list. I am quite sure his wife and daughter meant more, but I’ll give him some poetic license.

Through sobs, I made him promise he would never again keep bad news from me. A few years later, he called to let me know Milly had passed. And then in 2003, he called to let me know his cancer had returned. I immediately told him I’d be there.

Our Farewell Visit

He had hoped I could be there for his birthday to share in the celebration of a profile of him that had been published which proclaimed him to be a legend – and legend he was. I just missed it and arrived the following month, and the timing was still perfect.

We spent two weeks talking and laughing about everything in our lives – past and present. I got to meet his extended family and many friends, most of whom I had not met when I lived in South Africa. At least once a day, we sat on the deck looking out over the water of the Da Gama Dam, and simply basked in the warmth of our friendship.

And that twist? Well, that was all about learning details from our earlier time together that brought a new light to my past experiences. I just had to laugh.

For one thing, every time my now ex and I would leave their home, Bobby would turn to Milly and ask, “What does she see in him?!” Milly would advise him to let it go, and he did for a whole lot of years until I sat with him again.

And I was surprised to learn that my agent’s husband made such a pest of himself that Bobby almost canceled our initial trip. Then, all those years later, he told me exactly what I was wearing when he saw me get out of the car, and the impression I had made on him. For my part, I couldn’t read the look on his face at all.

And my favorite revelation was that he and Milly made up a story to get me alone for lunch in Johannesburg. They invited me (only) to lunch to meet their friend who they thought might help with my acting work. Neither my now ex nor I thought anything about it – I was just happy to meet her and to see my friends. It was a total set-up and I had no clue. He was so proud of himself at pulling it off, and he had to wait all those years to finally tell me. I still laugh thinking about it!

The End

As Bobby’s cancer progressed, he moved to his sister’s home and I called him there so we could laugh together through his final weeks. I fully believe that laughter is the best medicine, but cancer won in the end.

Our last conversation was only a few days before he passed. I later learned that he reached out with arms extended, speaking with the African man who was formative in his life when he was young. He loved this man and that is who came to help him make his final transition.

Bobby’s niece called to let me know the news. Bobby kept his promise to call with any bad news all the way to the end. God, I love that man!

A Reflection

I often return to the deck on which we spent our last mornings. I take his arm and we sit. Words are no longer necessary. I question if they ever were. Water shimmers in the dam’s lake. The beautiful and often exotic birds of South Africa call out as they fly by. A cool breeze comes from across the water.

Love and peace fills my heart, and I cannot help but smile. Happy Birthday, my friend!

A Question

How do you acknowledge or celebrate birthdays of loved ones who have passed? I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

Waiting at the elevator to go up to my apartment, I stood next to two men and a very large piece of equipment. The older of the two (the uncle to the nephew, as it turns out) had the biggest of smiles – which, of course, I met in kind.

When I learned they were working on the building’s sewer, I immediately said, “That’s important – thank you for the work you do!” The uncle plumber’s smile got even bigger. And that’s when our conversation started in earnest.

He mentioned how nice it was to be so pleasantly greeted and told me of other buildings where his “good morning” been completely ignored – even though he had been working around these same people for multiple days. I find that very sad. And even sadder was the person who berated him for daring to be happy when there was so much adversity in the world.

Someone actually turned on a fellow human being for smiling and extending a pleasant greeting!!

I have experienced being ignored now and again over the years, and I often think it might be cultural. My dear former mother-in-law, Rose, offered a perfect illustration of that.

On her first trip to the US from her home in the UK, my (now ex-) husband and I took her to meet my family in Arizona. On a golf cart tour with my father, she sat perfectly still while my father greeted everyone along the way.

Finally, my father told her, “Rose, in this country we say hello to people.” And from that moment, a new Rose appeared. She smiled, waved, spoke to everyone she came in contact with – and seemed to enjoy it greatly.

I’m not so sure there is an equally easy fix for someone who turns on another for daring to be happy in tumultuous times. Just maybe, if that person had taken a moment to accept the offered human interaction and savor the beauty of a shared moment, the pain of the world might have felt a tiny bit lighter that day.

Tiny lifts here and there, again and again, and a feeling of peace starts to settle in.

Our words and actions create ripples that flow out into the world. Choosing the good ones opens feelings of well-being. And sometimes it’s as simple as saying hello.

Do you gift others with random hellos?

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

Two years ago today, my first post arrived on Substack. To celebrate this anniversary, as I do so often in my life, I pause to reflect on this time and where it has led me. And I bought myself white parrot tulips at the farmers market - as one does.

Round peg in a square hole

Over this time on Substack and the previous four years on Medium, I have continuously been asked my niche. Who, specifically, am I writing for? Who is my target audience? It’s a question I cannot answer, and I’m told that answering it is a major enabler of success. I hope that’s not true because I cannot comply.

I tend to see people beyond categories – even myself. People have sought to put me in a “bucket” my entire life and that, more often than not, feels like I’m a peg being hammered into a misshapen hole. I fail to see why that is genuinely helpful. I understand that it makes marketing easier, but it feels limiting to me at a time when my soul is calling for expansion and inclusion.

So I bumble along, writing to you each week – the you who do not fall into one specific category or another, just like me. And that leads me to follow my curiosity down paths that may appear disjointed to some, but are all highly pleasurable to me.

Following paths of joy started to make more sense when I read about flâneurs and discovered that I am one. “Exploring Life as a Flâneur,”1 a post I wrote in 2023, has been circling in my head for days now leading up to today’s anniversary. I think it’s time to revisit it.

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Discovering flâneurs

The word flâneur, according to Wikipedia,2 is derived from the Old Norse verb flana, meaning “to wander with no purpose.” The flâneur as a person first appeared in literature in the 19th century. The connotation has varied, becoming more positive over time.

I was introduced to the word in a New York Times travel article, The Art of Being a Flâneur,3 and saw myself as I read. The author, Stephanie Rosenbloom, shared her experience exploring cities by wandering through them.

Rosenbloom writes,

To walk a city led by your senses rather than a destination is to awaken to the city and, possibly, to yourself. It’s an opportunity to expand your capacity for wonder, to discover and delight in things you might have missed had you been aiming to get somewhere.

And she goes on to way,

This sort of aimless strolling is conducive to savoring, to finding joy in the moment, a practice that some social scientists have found can be cultivated and may help lead to a more fulfilling life.

This is my ultimate conversation with a city – one I engage in daily. I love wandering to explore the world around me, watching with wide-eyed wonder as my walks reveal their gifts to me. I savor the smell of a flower, the song of a bird, the delight of observing a tender interaction – and my heart feels full.

Reflecting on my inner flâneur

It is not surprising that I am reminded of conversation and how we communicate together.

Thinking as a flâneur encourages my curiosity about the person with whom I am speaking. I engage with fresh eyes and ears to learn more, allowing questions and comments to open a myriad of discoveries, unencumbered by preconceived ideas.

I collaborate more effectively by exploring multiple ways of being, of thinking, of doing – without feeling the need to own one in particular.

Most important, embracing my inner wanderer brings the promise of surprise – of learning or experiencing something new and potentially extraordinary. That newness offers a fresh perspective – one that validates my beliefs or presents something different to consider.

With all this to discover and experience, how can I ever put anything, no less anyone, in a hole or a box?! I cannot do it. Which leads me to turn to you as we travel down this random path together.

A request

It occurs to me to ask you, my readers, for your help. Since I do not see either of us fitting into a niche or category, I am curious to know what you enjoy about my wanderings and what keeps you reading. Knowing that would be an incredible gift.

If you are comfortable with this request, I hope you will leave a comment or reach out to me directly with your thoughts. I am quite sure I will find it illuminating.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

A giant eye seemed to hang in the air as I approached the Flatiron Building. I was walking to an appointment and didn’t have time to linger, but of course I had to stop.

Heading uptown (north, to non-NYers), the eye is brown. Looking back downtown, the eye is a bright blue. It took my second visit to discover the eye was supported by a pillar of tears, pooling at its base.

We don’t always see what is literally right in front of us.

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Dreamland Sirens by Charlotte Colbert

The Flatiron is my hands-down favorite NYC building. Its beauty has been hidden for the past few years as it goes through renovation and rebirth as condos.1 That said, the energy of its 120+ years can still be felt, and I’m sure it will get stronger as it once again fills with life.

Having the Dreamland Sirens 30-foot sculpture in this space seems like a perfect albeit temporary home. Links to information about the sculpture2 and its artist, Charlotte Colbert,3 can be found in the footnotes. They also offer far better photos than I could capture.

I was mesmerized by the reflections captured in the tears and eyelashes - each morphing into something new as I walked around the sculpture. Over the past few days as I sat with the photos I took, I kept seeing more and more - always the most beautiful of surprises.

I was curious to know what inspired the artist, and her answer was totally unexpected.

Oh, YES!!! Yes, our world is turned upside down and every other direction. And yes, we have the power to reimagine any and all of our agreed-upon conventions and bring change.

Reimagining the Future

How? Well, Colbert goes on to say,

That is one powerful invitation!! And how fitting that the artwork reminding us that we can always reinvent is standing next to a building that is doing exactly that.

Embracing Randomness

How can I not love that Colbert champions random conversations as we pause to reflect on this sculpture that holds us in its gaze and reflects us back?!

I could not agree more with every single word!

Reflecting on Reflections

I find myself getting lost in these reflections of my home city, seeing the sky appear both above and below, seeing the Flatiron stretch into new and graceful shapes, seeing a tear-shaped boundary framing the view. Nothing is as expected, and that fascinates me.

I am not an artist, but I appreciate art. And I especially appreciate art that draws me into a different perspective.

What I love most is Colbert’s invitation “to question, to dream, and to rethink what we take for granted.” Fresh eyes are critical to accepting her invitation. And just maybe that is why this particular eye is overflowing with tears. Only we can dry those tears.

A Question

Have you experienced a change of perspective that has stayed with you? I’d welcome hearing about your experience and what enabled it in the comments.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

It’s been such an odd few months. Well, more realistically, it’s been odd for what seems like ever.

Part of that has been the weather. NYC had two major snowfalls over the winter, the first of which brought frigid temperatures that did not budge for weeks. In February, the prediction of both local and regional groundhogs came true - New York’s Staten Island Chuck and Pennsylvania’s Punxsutawney Phil.

(For a good laugh, take a look at NOAA’s January 2025 Groundhog Rankings. Chuck is #1 – and #2 is a Prairie Dog statue!)

Another part of that oddness has been work-related. For six years this month, I have been fortunate to have had an incredible working relationship with a client I deeply respect. I have loved working with them! This current project will wrap up later this month, completing the work we set out to do all that time ago. Sadly, this experience has been very different.

I’ve been head down, bleary eyes focused on my computer screen, oblivious to the beauty that was unfolding around me. For too many days, I never even ventured outside – and that is just not good.

I have missed two of my self-imposed newsletter posting days. Letting the guilt go was the first step, and that was fairly easy when I realized that no one had Wednesday’s on their mental calendar to expect to hear from me.

It was more that I started to wonder if I could ever get back on track. I have missed writing these random conversations and hearing from so many of you! But now I’m back – just like spring.

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Spring – Beauty, Resilience, Renewal

I have often shared my love of spring in the northeast. Growing up in Arizona, spring arrived with the African daisies, and was immediately followed by the furnace blast of summer – like a simple tinkling of Chopsticks on the piano. In the northeast, spring unfolds in a three-month orchestration of spectacular becoming – a symphony of delights. I missed the symphony this year.

The snowdrops had come and gone, the crocuses and daffodils were already up and peaking, my favorite magnolias were about to burst open, and even the cherry trees in front of my apartment building were already starting to open their buds.

My late winter joy in discovering all the very first signs of spring and watching them grow had been lost, and I was deeply disappointed and disoriented.

Spring and its layer upon layer of beauty has been a yearly metaphor of resilience and renewal, and I arrived very late to the party when my need for it was strongest. And, since it was so cold for so long and followed by sudden high temperatures, this spring has decided to bloom all at once – the northeast version of Chopsticks.

I have felt beaten down to a breaking point the last few weeks, and I needed an influx of that metaphor’s positive energy. Now I am trying my best to catch up.

Work – the Dysfunction of Parallel Communication

I won’t bore you with the details. My current project is to re-record 40+ technical training videos I created over the past six years, due to updated branding and a new User Interface.

What changed is the person I interact with. The senior leader who led this work in the past is still present, but she stayed in the background and elevated a member of her team to lead the project.

This person is technically brilliant and I am in awe of that. She can easily keep track of a seemingly infinite number of data points – I cannot. For me to get there, I need context before I can process the details. Present me with too many details, and my brain literally shuts down.

This seems such a simple thing, right? But that simple difference churned through way-too-many budgeted hours of work, and it was only getting worse.

A quick example. I asked one simple and direct question, and her response was paragraphs of detail that did not answer my question. I thanked her and asked the question again, which brought more of the same. It was only in a long, frustration-laden, detail-filled response that the answer to my question was given.

I fully understand her frustration with me. After all, she gave me all the details she could think of. We simply spoke two different languages, which created parallel conversations that never connected.

Communicating effectively with highly analytical people can be challenging for me. Multiple communication and interaction style assessments over the years have helped me a great deal, but there is always something more to learn. I braced myself each morning as I checked to see how many messages she sent me.

Ultimately, I asked for help. I reached out to the phenomenal person who had been directly leading our work all this time, and she quickly stepped in. I explained why the project was in jeopardy. She listened carefully and asked questions for clarity.

She understood that the person on her team who had been leading this project was at the center of the loss of time and allocated hours. We created a plan to effectively move forward, and I am once again reminded what an incredible leader she is.

And that is when I finally went outside and discovered that spring had arrived without me.

A Reflection

Anticipation is such a powerful energizer. That may well be part of the reason I start searching for signs of spring while we are still in the grips of winter. It shakes off the dormancy of long dark months. Without it this spring, I now realize that a dopamine rush accompanies each sighting and fills me with well-being. I have really, really missed that.

But more is coming.

Nature will continue to unfold all around me as spring turns into summer, bringing with it a visual representation of resilience and renewal. The focus of what I missed is now shifting to the anticipation and expectation of what is yet to be.

My heart feels full.

A Question

What does spring mean to you? I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.

Random Conversations is a newsletter for those who believe in the power of a positive perspective and the joy it brings. It champions intentionally honoring ways of being and promotes the belief that we can change our world, one interaction at a time. Choose the change wisely.

There must have been an association of thoughts that brought back a memory from college. I don’t remember the path my thinking took, but something reminded me.

In response to an assignment in one of my classes, a friend drove me through an area of Phoenix that I never knew existed. She referred to it as The Barrio, and said she used to live there.

She pointed out people and places along the way, sharing stories that broke my heart. The one that stays with me was a young teenager she pointed to, saying she had been a prostitute for several years.

When I got home, I told my mother about what I saw. My heart was hurting and it hurts again as I remember the experience. Her response?

Aren’t you happy we protected you from that?

I was not happy.

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An Earlier Memory

That memory circling around in my head brought back an earlier one.

I would have been one side or another of thirteen. Mom and I were at a restaurant having lunch and she told me about the affairs my father had. She found phone numbers in his pockets and who knows what else. He told her that all the men in their group of married friends were having affairs – every one of them. Clearly, it didn’t mean anything. Right?

She seemed calm – resigned to once again be treated without respect, just as she had from childhood. I was incensed and her acceptance only fanned those flames.

So, here’s the question that came to me. Why would my mother feel righteous for protecting me from knowing the poverty and squalor of an entire community, and yet feel that sharing one more example of my father’s reprehensible behavior and her own inability to stand up to him was important for me to know – and at that still very young age?

I don’t think she would ever have been able to articulate an answer to that. Self-reflection was not a strength in my family.

Years later, I confronted my father with examples of his horrible behavior. He looked me straight in the eye and lied. This was over one of his beloved three martini lunches, during which he told me how proud he was that he made his marriage work.

Really?!

What’s the Story?

Both these memories got me thinking about the stories we tell ourselves, and the stories we tell each other.

One story my family bought into was that family was everything. They both came from large families and family was their number one priority. It didn’t matter that relationships with their extended family were fractured – just like in our immediate family. Family was family.

Sadly, what neither could see was that those living in The Barrio at that time were our family, as well. That thinking, to quote my post from a couple weeks ago, was just hooey!

And my mother’s reaction to being betrayed by her husband again and again and again? To me, it was one more example of her suffering. In a very unhealthy way, I think she believed it would bring us closer. My parents had a habit of putting me in the middle of them and trying to get me on “their side.”

And that is part of my story, isn’t it? Fortunately, the angst I used to feel over the dynamics of my family is long gone. I remain very grateful that my relationship with both of them healed before they passed.

Stories Are Fluid

I am here to say that we can change our stories. We don’t have to live within their confined parameters. This is true for the stories we tell about ourselves and the stories we tell about others.

This even includes the most silly of stories.

I wore a Tuareg cross for years. My (now ex-) husband and I bought it when we lived in South Africa. At that time, Tuareg men were referred to as the “blue men of the desert” since their indigo-died clothing bled onto their skin as they crossed northern Africa. I was captivated by their story and loved the piece they created.

After wearing it for a year or so, I discovered that someone I knew only in passing created and shared her own story about it and why I wore it. The details she offered have been lost over time, but I remember that she wove quite a tale that had no basis in truth whatsoever.

I have no idea why she felt compelled to do that. The piece itself would have opened an interesting conversation between the two of us. Instead, she was invested in her own version of my life. And she was happy to share it. Asking me a simple question would have changed the entire story. We might have even become friends.

A Reflection

The stories we tell are tied to the truths we hold. Sometimes we hold onto them to make us feel good – and sometimes we hold onto them to make us feel bad. Reviewing them with a loving eye can be illuminating, to say the least.

A Question

What do you think about the stories we tell? I’d welcome hearing your thoughts in the comments.