Apparently friendship comes more easily to some of us than to others. The universe puts people in our path, personalities mesh or collide, and in rare cases, something about a turn of phrase or artful shrug of shoulder sends the clear message that this is a person with whom I’d like to spend some time.

Those encounters came fairly easily in my work in schools; I got paid to read books, have conversations, and step out into bright autumn days to “coach” teams that operated perfectly well without my intrusion. I had smart colleagues who functioned with an operating sense of humor and an abiding commitment to the young people in our universe. Retirement was daunting, but I connected with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and Southern Oregon’s Hospice thrift store. My wife’s meaningful work with dogs and dog owners brought other wonderful people to our small farm. Covid, fire, and relocation in Connecticut changed the dimensions of our lives, bringing family closer and adding two new pups to our household, but offering few opportunities to make friends.

I’ve written about “book friends”, people I’ve bumped into who share my love of books. Those conversations have popped up in airports, waiting rooms, and auto repair shops. Not often, not nearly often enough, and have  brought only fleeting connections. 

Yesterday I stood in the check out line at Trader Joe’s, watching the bags fill and the cashier artfully nudging the cookies to the bottom of a bag where they would remain safely protected by cereal boxes until I brought the haul home. I happened to look up as a woman in the adjacent line joked with her cashier as her bags filled, “That’s why they tell us not to shop when we’re hungry!”

My response was reflexive, immediate, and completely uninvited. “What if I’m always hungry?” 

Not the most exquisite bon mot, but her response was to hold up a box of cookies and say, “These will not get home safely.”

As we paid up and maneuvered our carts along the small corridor leading to the exit, I saw her standing aside, that box of cookies open and held out to me as I walked by. We laughed, I thanked her and left the cookies untouched. “These guys might actually make it home today,” I suggested as I waved and pushed my cart into the parking lot.

Even as I tossed the bags into the back of my car I wondered how I might have been able to communicate how much I appreciated her sense of humor, how to suggest that my wife would love to meet her, that we’d be delighted to have her visit or meet us for coffee (and cookies). It would have been weird, or at least unseemly, to linger in the parking lot hoping to start a conversation. 

And so it goes.

A sense of humor goes a long way, willingness to see and connect with another human being goes a long way, belief in the goodness of a guy checking out at Trader Joe’s on a Saturday afternoon goes a long way. As was the case with my airport book friends, this potential friendship remains purely hypothetical. 

It helps a bit to think of the possibility that potential friendships might pop up again. I’ll have to develop the skill necessary to keep a conversation going, even in a parking lot, without appearing predatory or simply goofy. 

Goofy’s probably ok. Worth a try.