Encounter in an Elevator

I have many rules for myself.  One is that I don’t initiate conversations with a stranger in either an airplane or an elevator.

I made this rule when I was young because I was afraid to talk to strangers.  I never knew what to say and “Nice weather” seemed too obvious and too generic.  Small talk didn’t work for me.  It still doesn’t.

But always I like to reconsider my old rules, just in case they may not work for me today, and I suggest you do the same.  If you are aware that you have been operating under a rule from long ago, think about whether it still serves you. Maybe you are stuck in an old behavior pattern simply because you have “always” done it that way. Change can equal freedom.

Last week I parked my car in a multi-level garage in Century City. I found a space on the second level, and decided to ride the elevator to the ground floor.

The elevator opened and a young man wearing spectacles began to walk out.  Suddenly he looked confused.

“This is the second floor, not the first,” I said. He nodded and reentered the elevator.

“You know,” I said, “whenever I get into an elevator I want it to go to the floor I want without stopping for anyone else.  But that seldom happens.”  We both laughed.

He said, “I feel the same way.”

We enjoyed our short ride.  He indicated that I should exit before him, which I did.

“Have a nice afternoon,” he said.

“You too.”

I kept a smile on my face for the rest of the day. I had chosen to follow a new rule – share something about myself with a stranger.  We both enjoyed our friendly exchange.

Your personal rules are supposed to help you navigate through life.  But if you’re like me (especially if you’re more than twenty years old), your life might very well be improved by rethinking your routines. Discard old habits that no longer serve you.

Like me, you might start talking to a stranger in an elevator.  Or even in an airplane.  Or you might stop talking to strangers.  It all depends on who you are today.

One morning, when my oldest son was six years old, I discovered him frying an egg. He was kneeling on the counter top next to the gas range because he couldn’t reach the stove from the floor.

Today my son is an MD, almost six feet tall, and more than fifty years old.  When he fries an egg he does it just like I do – standing on the kitchen floor. He has long since outgrown his original way of cooking eggs.

Alan