Our theme for the month of March is “How to.”
It’s nearly 10 p.m., the plane that dark and luminous blue of flying at night, spotted with those circular yellow reading lights sporadically spilling their warmth over pages or hushed conversations. I’ve got the gravity of melancholic liminality in my chest and the restless, nonsensical longing for tears in the back of my eyes. I’m exhausted. Ultimately, I just want to look out the window at rapidly receding lights and hear—not even quite listen to—the playlists I’ve cultivated for exactly this sort of feeling.
Instead, I talked with the woman next to me for the entirety of the two-hour flight. She told me about her son’s lack of appreciation for vintage furniture, about her grandkids, and about her role in disposing of an estate that belonged to her recently deceased friend. We talked about death and the mementos a life leaves, this generation’s alleged distaste for genealogy and tradition, the logistics of funerals, and the challenge of scheduling family visits.
Sometimes you get trapped into conversations like that: lonely people who have no one else to talk to, people who can’t read social cues, people who are self-centered enough to extend their monologues far beyond your desire to listen. The whole time you’re thinking of a way to escape or rolling your eyes at the other person who’s similarly stuck.
While I’ve been trying to reframe those kinds of conversations for myself for a while now—I am being trusted with a part of someone’s story, and that deserves respect no matter what—this airplane conversation was not one of them. I, despite my desire for individual contemplation (and let’s be real here, my desire to wallow in my own emotion), was both initiator and perpetrator.
For what reason, exactly? I don’t know if I could tell you now, over a year removed. But I am sure it had something to do with the few key beliefs I believe must inform any conversation, especially if you’re looking to have one with a stranger.
First, one must believe people are worth listening to. This posture of the heart is easy to affirm and hard to assume. I am tired; I am in a hurry; I don’t want to be bored; I don’t want someone else to hold up my day’s trajectory; I doubt that anything some rando could say would be worth the time it would take to get to them saying it. But people are worth listening to. Both for their own sake—everyone, as image-bearer and human, deserves to be heard, especially those who often are not—and for your own. If I hadn’t listened to a tired and grieving older lady at the library tell me that her daughter no longer talks to her, I may not have called my own mom, I may not have thought further about what it means to live in right relationship.
Relatedly, one must believe that it is worthwhile to ask someone something small and simple, if only because by doing that is it possible to ask a second question. While awkward and a little bit uncomfortable, small talk is the price one must pay to eventually become known. Genuine interest, even in answers to the banal sorts of questions like “How are you?” and “What have you been up to this weekend?” is the first step towards connection.
Finally, one must be willing to be uncomfortable, open, and maybe even a little bit vulnerable. People can sniff out insincerity like nobody’s business, so be genuine. Give legitimate compliments, actually be curious.
Once you’ve put on those attitudes, then, the steps are pretty simple. You sit next to a woman on a plane. You smile, say hello, comment on the open middle seat between you. She asks if you’re headed home, you say yes, you’re coming from a college media conference. You ask her the reason she’s on the flight. She says something about grandkids, you ask how many, she tells you and talks about her son. You mention you collect vintage postcards, she offers to send some to you. The two of you hold a conversation for the entire flight because she seems like she enjoys having someone to talk to, and it’s always interesting to learn about another person’s life, even at 10 p.m.
You disembark with her phone number and the promise of a package containing her deceased friend’s vintage postcard collection. She disembarks with your home address.
I received a package several weeks later with a short note and hundreds of vintage postcards; I texted Patty to say thank you. We haven’t spoken since, but I keep her phone number in my wallet and almost always say hello to the people I sit next to on airplanes.
Savannah Shustack graduated from Calvin in 2024 with a major in literature and plans to have the job of “books” one day. Rather like Ken, she is still figuring life out; the job “books” provides plenty of wiggle room, though she’s currently leaning toward being a librarian. Savannah is a New England native who enjoys watching hockey (Go Bruins!) and playing board games—especially ones she can win.
