Why I Talk to Strangers

I did something I was ashamed of. I won’t go into detail, other than to say I was inappropriately rageful, and afterward I felt ashamed.

So I went for a walk in Mt. Tabor Park. A happy looking black dog came running up close to me. Its “owner” (so to speak), standing some 20 or 30 yards away on the grass, whistled and called sharply for the dog to return.

The dog hesitated, cocked his head as if listening for something in the wind, glanced at me, put his nose in the air, eyes calculating, perceiving something.

Altogether, it was a pause of about five to ten seconds – a beautifully poised little pause, before he bounded cheerfully back to his “owner.”

I wondered what might have been going through the dog’s mind during those moments. Surely nothing I could fathom. But the dog certainly had not acted like he was being jerked back to his “master” by some invisible leash. Rather, he seemed to be making free choices – several of them in a very compressed amount of time.

I was walking in their direction anyway, and as we were about to cross paths, I asked the young man who’d whistled back the dog (that is, the dog’s “owner” – I don’t know what else to call him) what he might have imagined “his” dog had been thinking during those moments of hesitation.

“Huh??” Noticing that I was addressing him, the young man removed his earbuds.

I repeated my question.

His face softened. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe he was just deciding if he was going to obey or keep running or what.”

I suggested, “Maybe he sniffed something in the air that compelled his attention for a second and he was sort of hypnotized by it. He seemed so still and alert.”

The young man looked down at the dog, who was now facing him earnestly, innocently, expectantly, wagging his tail slightly. “Right now all he’s thinking about is that stick over there that wants me to throw.”

I was sure that was true. It felt right. The dog seemed far less complicated and deep than he had moments earlier. 

But the young man and I continued to muse about what might have been going through the dog’s head when he hadn’t returned to “his person” immediately.

We introduced ourselves and the young man asked me, “Do you often think about things like this?”

I said, “All the time. I write about them too.” And I told him about our newsletter and he took out his phone and pulled up the Higher Thought website and subscribed.

Then, because it felt easy to do so, I told him about the shame that was haunting my heart that day (I didn’t use those words), the rage incident that had just happened, my embarrassment, and my fear of future consequences. 

He said, “Oh, you’ll be okay. It wasn’t that bad.”

And I knew he was right. And I felt absolved. 

So that’s why I talk to strangers.

(I should mention that I knew I’d be seeing friends that evening but I didn’t want to tell them about what I’d just divulged to the friendly stranger.)