Go ahead. Chat someone up.

It hadn't been a great day, and I didn’t want to stop at the store. By the time I reached checkout, I had built a wall. 

The bag boy chatted and laughed softly anyway, while tucking away my groceries. A smidge past small talk. His cousins were getting married over the weekend, he told me. But not to each other, he added quickly. More laughter.

“Weddings are great because it means more people in my family,” he said. Smiling. Cheerful. Genuine.

He talked with me all the way out to my car. I never let anyone carry out my groceries. But he insisted, and I couldn’t say no. 

Why? Because he was kind. Happy. Open.

Which brought my focus to what seems startlingly obvious but isn't: Every time we move through the world closed off, we do ourselves—and others—a disservice. We’re not only less likely to reach out, but we're also harder to reach. Offer a helping hand. Make someone’s day better.

Weeks later, I am still pretty grateful for that 10-minute conversation. I left it feeling seen. Better. Like someone had started demo on that wall. 

How simple, but out of it came this: The people we run into casually may not be in-in our lives like friends and family, but they're still in our lives. If we're open, we have the power to affect them. And they have the power to affect us.

All this from the grocery store.