I prowled the aisles of my local CVS looking for my next victim, trying to feel like less of a creep. It was around 8:30 p.m. on Jan. 2, fresh into the new year of 2024, and I was in my hometown for Winter Break. My mom was at the self-checkout, purchasing me a pack of silicone earplugs (which should tell you enough about me as a person). The aisles were empty, and I was starting to feel myself grow nervous. My mom reached for her wallet in her purse, indicating that I had maybe 30 seconds to complete my mission and find the person that I was searching for. If only I knew what they might look like.
Finally, after I had circled the candy aisle enough times to feel a preliminary toothache setting in, I saw her. A woman with perhaps the most earthy, mundane outfit I had ever come across was standing by the toilet bowl cleaner. Her coat was beige, her scarf was beige and her hat was beige. I wiped my clammy hands on my pant legs and walked toward her, oozing what I hoped was confidence. Stopping directly in front of her and the Arm & Hammer, I stuttered, “Hi there! Yes, hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, I just wanted to tell you that I absolutely love your hat and scarf combo! It’s really neat!” I smiled brightly.
The woman blinked back at me, then looked down at her own outfit. When she looked back up, she smiled perplexedly. “Well, thank you!”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Have a good night,” I waved. I speed-walked to my mom, who was bagging my super-plus pack of earplugs, oblivious to my expedition. “Let’s get out of here,” I muttered, tearing out the door, my mom fumbling to quickly zip up her jacket and scurry behind in my wake.
Despite the slight perspiration that I experienced, I felt a surge of pride and relief. Mission. Accomplished.
To be clear: My mission was not to find the most unusually dressed person in the pharmacy and give them a somewhat insincere compliment. No, this was just a very lucky coincidence. In actuality, my mission was to have one unlikely conversation with a stranger per day. Sounds easy enough, right? If you’re sitting there nodding your head and thinking, “Oh totally, I love putting myself out there! I do it all the time; it’s the best thing since sliced bread!” Then, perhaps you are not an introvert like myself.
I am someone who, after a long day, would much rather retire to solitude than go out and about “coffee chatting” and kissing babies or whatever it is that extroverts do in their leisure time — it’s a mystery to me. But feel free to have a chuckle at my expense as I struggle through this social ordeal; someone should, and it definitely won’t be me.
I began this mission on Jan. 1, equipped with the startling realization that I am not a perfect person and could perhaps benefit from the implementation of a resolution or two. My introversion, besides having protected me from potentially uncomfortable social events in which I knew fewer people than I had fingers, was obstructing me from the excitement of new experiences. Even though I spent an absurdly careful amount of time ensuring that I wasn’t in an uncomfortable situation, I also wasn’t necessarily happy with how my life was running its course. I actively wished for something, anything, positive or negative, to shake up my daily routine; yet, I shied away from even the most minutely precarious situation. I quickly learned that a strict and consistent routine is not customarily a breeding ground for a fun time.
I lacked excitement, I lacked novelty and I lacked the guts to do anything about it. That is, until the hallowed night of Dec. 31, 2023, when I made the decision to wake up the next morning, and every following morning and talk to one stranger per day, leaving my shell at the door right next to my pride and discarded dignity.
This dramatic shift was incredibly forced in the beginning; that much I understood as I doled out insincere compliments the same way Oprah tossed around cars. And one thing became abundantly clear: I had no idea how to talk to strangers. I couldn’t even remember the last time I did such a thing voluntarily. I chalked it up to baby steps, and every day for about the first two weeks of January, I engaged in some pretty mainstream conversations. Unsurprisingly, even the most basic of interactions took a lot of courage from my end. I once complimented the grocery store cashier’s “rockin’ man bun” as my friend tapped her foot impatiently, having just watched me work up the nerve to go speak to him. Though in my defense, it takes a lot of nerve to say “rockin’ man bun” in public, a phrase I now hope to expunge from my lexicon.
Some days, my Unlikely Conversation Of The Day merely consisted of me responding to the conversational efforts of another person who, months ago, I would have politely dismissed with a tight-lipped smile or a half-hearted chuckle at best.
Other days, my conversations consisted of me singing a Beatles duet with my Uber driver Vladmir, who most certainly received five stars after our ride, despite his pitchiness.
So as I checked days off on my mental calendar, I felt at ease when I accomplished my Unlikely Conversation Of The Day. The fear I felt prior to approaching the woman dressed in beige at CVS was immediately replaced with a rush of adrenaline and excitement as I walked away from a successful conversation, knowing that I put myself in a scary situation and overcame it. As time went by, I stopped giving out random and unfounded compliments as conversation starters; this practice simply did not jell with my values. Instead, I found that conversations seemed to find me naturally.
I started leaving my house equipped with the mindset that I was going to go out in the world and talk to some unsuspecting pedestrians, a sharp pivot from my previous mindset, which consisted of me jumping through various hoops to avoid said pedestrians. It was literally like a light was switched on, and I saw the world in a completely different way.
For the most part, I stopped walking around with a rain cloud over my head. I say “for the most part” because, of course, I live in the Midwest, during winter, and am entitled to wallow at least a little bit. But I stopped feeling boxed into my introversion, and through my amateur do-it-yourself immersion therapy, I began to find comfort in what was once inconceivably uncomfortable. I like to think this was the point of my challenge all along.
I was surprised when I felt the urge to talk to the stranger sitting next to me in my lecture hall after I had already fulfilled my unlikely conversation quota for the day, and I was even more surprised when I enjoyed it. I simply felt more confident, content and excited to share who I was with others and get to know them in return. I even had a few coffee chats (which I still don’t really understand, as neither party ever actually drank coffee, and we mainly just loitered around various establishments).
I began looking for not just Unlikely Conversations but Unlikely Friendships everywhere I went. After all, the line between “conversation” and “friendship” is as thin as you make it. And most fortunately for me, I struck up a conversation with a fairly-chatty and witty girl who I knew only peripherally, and discovered a true friend hidden in plain sight.
This challenge of mine continued until one night, in the middle of winter semester, I realized as I lay in bed that I had stopped keeping track of my daily conversations. Within the hustle and bustle of classes and schoolwork, I’d completely forgotten about my mission! All I could hear was the sound of my own failure, and it wasn’t just because of the super-plus silicone earplugs perched in my ears.
However, rather than lighting anything on fire in a fit of panic and rage, I realized something. I didn’t need to notate my unlikely conversations anymore. Because, while I was busy running my mouth to strangers and had my back turned, my mission turned into a mindset.
Strangers turned into friends.
And I turned into someone I always had the potential, but never the courage, to be.
Statement Deputy Editor Irena Tutunari can be reached at tutunari@umich.edu.