There was a time when talking to strangers wasn’t strange at all.
You’d chat with the butcher, strike up a conversation with someone in line at the bank, or make small talk with a fellow commuter.
It wasn’t always deep or life-changing, but it reminded us that we’re all part of something bigger than ourselves—a shared human experience.
These days, we avoid eye contact.
We stare at screens.
We wear headphones as social armour.
A quick “hello” feels awkward, even risky.
When someone does speak up, we brace ourselves—is this person trying to sell something, push a belief, or just… weird?
Part of this shift is cultural.
We’ve been taught to be suspicious—of strangers, of motives, of difference.
The 24/7 news cycle thrives on fear, and every interaction is filtered through a lens of what might go wrong.
“Stranger danger” didn’t just make us cautious; it made us isolated.
Technology hasn’t helped.
We can message friends across the world but don’t know our neighbour’s name.
We order groceries, coffee, and even friendships with a tap.
Convenience has quietly replaced connection.
And then there’s time—or the illusion of not having any.
We’re always rushing.
Always “busy.”
But beneath the hurry is something deeper: we’ve forgotten how to be present.
Talking to someone new requires attention, patience, and a willingness to be a little uncomfortable.
And many of us simply don’t have the bandwidth—or the practice.
But here’s the truth: when we stop talking to strangers, we start forgetting how to relate to people who aren’t like us.
We lose empathy.
We reinforce bubbles.
We become lonelier, not safer.
Rebuilding those tiny threads of connection doesn’t require grand gestures.
It starts with eye contact.
A smile.
A “How’s your day?”
It means showing up in our own communities, not just scrolling through someone else’s.
We don’t need to return to the past.
But we can reclaim something valuable from it.
The next time you’re in a queue, at a park, or sitting on a tram, consider saying something.
Something small.
Something kind.
Not because you have to—but because maybe that stranger is feeling the same quiet distance you are.
In a world growing louder yet more disconnected, maybe a simple conversation is the most human thing we can do.
Photo by Helena Lopes: