It’s interesting to try tuning in to one person at a time, throughout the day.

That doesn’t mean cottoning up to everybody. Many people want and need to be left alone in their individual bubble of consciousness. Every day I navigate around folks who are clearly existing at the end of their rope, and for some the greatest kindness is a good letting alone. Likewise, in a particular large city, I went visiting recently and on a stroll around town gave everyone the usual nod-and-blink of basic good will. They responded with a brush-off rate of 100%.

It can work the other way, too. There are people determined to engage with me, and the task is to defuse and sidestep in a quiet way without riling them up. For example, at the stop for my bus home, with the bus approaching from a block away, there was a man in a highly elated state of agitation using aimless random aggressive utterances and gestures. He did not seem to mind when a speeding battery unicycle narrowly missed him. He was intent on staggering toward me, fiercely demanding to know which was the best Disney cartoon. “‘The Little House,’ 1952,” I told him, adding in feigned panic “My God! What was THAT speeding past?” That ploy successfully redirected his attention from me to the speeding unicycle. “Why — don’t you know what that is?” he laughed. “Why that was all PHYSICS. All the world is physics — planet, sun, gravity, magnets, tides, all of it.” I hopped on the bus, saying “So THAT explains it all! Thank you.”

It’s a memorable occasion when people reach out to me in a skillful way. This week I was deeply absorbed in a Russian book on the bus, keeping peripheral side awareness that a tall rugged bearded young man with a very rugged backpack was keeping an awareness of me. He passed up the empty seats and was standing right behind me. Finally when I rang the bell for my stop he swung an arm toward me with his phone face up on his palm. With some trepidation (He’s either showing me something for an undetermined reason, or is filming me) I glanced up at his screen. It showed the English words “Silouan the Athonite.” What! My book was in fact Staréts Silouán, the biography of St. Silouan of Athos by Elder Sophrony. “Do you read Russian??” I asked him. He said “No, I can only sound out a few letters. But you do. How did you learn?” Before the bus reached my stop he and I had a very friendly heartfelt conversation.

Outreach seems worth a try, since we’re all obliged to share this daily life anyway. It’s good to pay attention first to the context and feel of the room, and to start with a very small low-risk step. Then we can back right off if need be and reconsider strategies for next time.

At a block party a group of little kiddos, four years old or so, took turns making a running start and then with a happy scream leaping on to the back of a smallish slender Golden Doodle. With each rear tackle & grip the dog was wildly startled and stood there trembling and watching out in all directions at once. The adults were busy enjoying cocktails and chat with other grownups. Hoping to spare the dog some spine and nerve harm, and to spare the kids from getting bitten tackling a more reactive dog some day, I gave the parents a reassuring smile and said to the children “Hi there! Would you like to hear a little tip about greeting a gentle dog like this one?” The parents gave me a freezing glare, and gathering the kids and dog marched away.

During life in campus housing, with tiny individual rooms and a shared central kitchen, I overheard a new neighbor move in to the adjacent unit on the other side of my wall. I wrote a greeting card with a welcome to the building, and left it at the door. Soon I heard the sound of my card being torn up, and the new occupant storming off down the hall. According to building management, the young man complained to them saying “Who does this woman think she is? I paid for a summer’s rent. I did not pay for a RELATIONSHIP. Back in [elegant Northern European country] we don’t put up with invasions of privacy like this.” Management assured him that I was harmless, that I did things like this to people all the time, and if he ignored me I’d go away. We finally met at a building party, where he had more than a few drinks. He was surprised to find that I turned out to be his mysterious stalker, and soon he was laughing over the whole fracas as a souvenir of eccentric Americana: “Back home, we feel affronted even when a bus driver says ‘Good morning.’ That means he’s new at the job. We’ll soon break him in, and he won’t try that stunt again.”

So, step by step. And things can turn out okay, with surprises in store.

During a conference I overheard a family checking in to the hotel reception of our building, and caught some linguistically unique signature consonants (zh, shch, and so on) in their hushed speech together. After they finished their check-in and were having a look around, I sidled up and asked what language they were speaking. The family snapped to attention on high alert. The father looked me over and finally said “Russian.” I started chatting them up, they looked happy and relieved, and we had a nice visit.

One of our trucking companies sends delivery drivers in pairs, and over the years we’ve built up a good friendly rapport. When the office holds a conference there are always cold beverages and sometimes snacks left over, and it turns out that drivers are very pleased when I bring them cold drinks and some extra cookies or chips. This week I greeted the truck with my favorite driver pair, young guys with a great sense of humor. This time only one of them got out of the truck. After the delivery I handed him snacks for them both, joking that I’d managed to save some of Jax’s favorite soda. “He likes his crackin’ cold, so I kept it in the fridge til the last minute.” His partner hesitated, and said “I’m on my own today because Jax died.” Jax was just finishing a shift on the road when another truck went out of control and hit his rig. For a long minute we just stood there looking at the snacks and Jax’s soda with the planet being a fragile place. I gave him a hug, and he drove away. Next time I’ll go out and get him a turkey sandwich.

A white coffee mug showing the words Moscow / Москвá in English and Cyrillic, with a picture map of the city from centuries ago, has been in the cabinet for years. It’s a sturdy generous mug in mint new condition, but it seemed a shame to ruin the color with my daily turmeric tea. Today I packed it in my bag to donate at Goodwill. On the way I stopped at the open-air Fruit & Folks market for a produce run. The staff always lift my spirits; they are the finest hardworking young people, cheerfully lugging vegetables or Christmas trees in the hottest or coldest weather, full of hearty humor and kindness. Today they were happily listening to the sound track of some wildly popular full length classic animated film. While the cashier and I swapped stories about seasoning our cast iron pans, the young manager burst out with protests: No, we must not listen to the sound track of this followup sequel! Only the original film is superior — all else is a poor runner up! The staff protested right back. Spirited banter ensued with votes shouting in from all corners of the store. Finally the staff said “Oh, and only YOU decide which animation is best? Thank you Comrade Stalin!” At that I whisked out the Moscow cup and awarded it to the manager. Since so much of humor is timing, complete hilarity ensued. Not only was everyone laughing away, but the manager was surprisingly pleased by his prize.

At the floor of the lower parking garage, where car break-ins and bicycle theft and vandalism are a sad cause of everyday caution for us employees, the elevator doors opened. A very tall fit Black gentleman beelined on to the elevator, saw me, and froze. In these troubled times it was impossible for me to imagine how tense that moment must have been. “Morning, Sir,” I said with a wave. “What floor would you like? And please don’t mind me: I’m just riding the elevator to test these access cards at all the floors.” Social context had given me all the advantage: in this encounter, the odd fish was me. Usually when someone on a bottom floor summons an elevator down by pushing the UP button, why in the world would there be a passenger already on it, and where did they come from — the sewer? Second, unlike me he was not on the elevator just lurking around. Third, he had an especially good-natured look, in a uniform with company name and badge, clearly headed somewhere. Fourth, he requested the floor that happens to be an executive suite filled with expensive plants, and his arms were full of gardening gear with potting soil amendments and a large watering can. “You, on the other hand,” I added, “are on an important mission to save some plants.” By then we were all smiles, lit up with shared enthusiasm of the beautiful window greenery upstairs. As he stepped off we said goodbye and I went on testing cards.

Before the doors closed he turned back to say “You may not be saving plants. But you may be saving the planet.”