Strangers with Benefits

Portraits of people who’ve shaped me.

Nov 02, 2023

I was on a little island near Pisa with a stranger named Mark. It was March. There were few tourists around and plenty of Airbnbs to choose from. We stayed together at one near the beach, bought a bottle of limoncello and a bag of CBD, and started talking.

The sun started to set; it got cold. We grabbed blankets and walked to the sand. Shiny black water lapped at our feet. We spoke and stared at the diamond-studded sky. It was two in the morning when something shifted. All the talk about our lives and I needed to share what was really on my mind. I told Mark that my sister molested me. I told him that I didn’t know whether to label it as incest or abuse, and I didn’t want to carry either labels with me anymore. I told Mark about the anger I rode in waves, and how that night, as we were talking, I was realizing there was no use for it. I didn’t want the pain, I wanted to forgive.

He got very quiet. He tried to comfort me. I didn’t need comfort, I already felt better. Maybe it was the limoncello or CBD, but I finally got it. I accepted her and forgave her. That night, I wasn’t angry anymore.

When the sun started to rise, Mark and I were still huddled on the beach. Toes in the chilly sand, he told me something more. He told me that when he was a kid, he molested his sister too.

The night stilled. I didn’t know what to feel. I wanted to hate him, I wanted to hate him instead of my sister. I wanted to pull away and tell Mark how he ruined his sister’s life. I didn’t; moments before, I had understood my sister. I accepted her and all the mess that was because of her. I looked at Mark huddled in a blanket too thin to keep skin warm, and I understood Mark too.

_______

When I’ve shared this story with a few people, they’ve always asked “how did you meet Mark? How did you connect so deeply?” Growing up, I often watched my mother speak with strangers. She had a knack for socializing and she loved people. My mother had a very simple rule. I don’t remember her articulating it, but if you were around her, you understood. She was always kind to others. She’d see someone wearing a cool dress and with a simple compliment, they would launch a three hour conversation. I'd watch her meet people in taxis and parks, at the supermarket and on planes this way. She met her best friend over carrot cake at a party. I could just imagine that first meeting. “What’s your recipe?” my mother probably asked. A lifelong friendship was born.

My mother gave me some of her hippy-like spirit. She absorbed strangers’ stories and craved more. It was so easy for her. I meet strangers the way I watched my mother do it. A word here, a question there; when I’m open, connection flows. Small words inspire big bonds.

I was on the train once when I met a lady with beautiful pink hair. I was a week or two pregnant and distraught. She was a little drunk. We started talking, got off the train and grabbed a glass of wine till two am. She told me stories of her own abortions and reassured me it’d be okay. I walked away thinking that this lady with pink hair was my one-night angel. Just what I needed when things weren’t okay.

I love meeting people everywhere I go. 99% of the time, I’m in for a conversation. Sometimes, though, I’m not in the mood. Talking feels like a slog. I want to spend time alone in my head and strangers knock insistently until I open. Maybe it’s my face; people have told me it’s inviting. Those connections still have always been worth it.

Once, I was in a bad mood on a plane as a woman kept trying to talk to me. I needed sleep, I felt dirty and wanted to get home. She kept talking, so I gave in and spent the 4 hours with her. She read my astrological chart and told me I’d benefit from meeting her Shaman. I met him the next day. He had a house right near Harvard with walls covered in jars of potions and herbs and God knows what else. He gave me a drink that tasted like roasted red peppers and made me feel calmer than I ever had in my life. It didn’t change my life like Mark but it made for a good story. Maybe one day when I need that calmness again I’ll look into my Google Maps history and try to find him. Or maybe not.

Another time on another plane, I badly needed solitude but a guy wanted company. He paid my seatmate $50 to switch seats with her. The plane took off and we chatted all the way from Chicago to London. It turned out he was Lady Gaga's videographer. I learned about a whole world of entertainment with him that I wouldn’t have accessed otherwise.

There also have been times when I’ve been compelled to speak with people without knowing why. At the Cannes Film Festival, I was walking down the street when I overheard someone asking for a pharmacy. Pharmacies are closed on Saturday nights. I stopped him, tried to find another solution, and we grabbed a drink together. He turned out to be the co-founder of India’s largest production company. We spent a couple of dinners and lunches together, I got to know a beautiful, deep soul, and we ended the week at the Cannes closing party. What a way to connect with people in a completely different world and learn about their humanity.

Or this other time, in Alaska, I started chatting on a travel app with David. He offered to give me a tour from Anchorage to Seward. I was nervous, what if we sat in the car for three hours and didn’t know what to talk about? Those butterfly-like wasps started to creep in. He was 60 years old. I didn’t know what message he might take from my willingness to go on this road trip. When I’m afraid of something, I tend to go all the way and do it. So I did.

As we sat in his little punch buggy, he told me his story of growing up Christian and never quite understanding love. He was divorced now after 30 years of trying to make a marriage work and lost in the unknown world of romance. A new lady he was in love with, a fellow schoolteacher, asked him to house sit her beach house. Every day, David would take a stroll on the sand, collecting heart shaped rocks for her. He put them all in a basket and counted the days for her to come back. After too long, she returned and he spilled this basket of heart-shaped rocks on the ground in front of her. She pushed David away, said it’s too much, too much love. She thought he was creepy and didn’t appreciate the gesture.

As we sat in David’s little punch buggy, he said that sadly, maybe, he needs to learn to give less love to be loved.

I didn’t know anything about love back then. I probably still don’t, I’m young. But I couldn’t fathom a world where less love to get love was the answer. I told David that I wished for him to find the one who could take all his love and embrace it like it was meant to be. I also had a tendency to give too much love like him because I so desperately wanted it back. In David’s little punch buggy, I was reminded to stay myself, to always give love like Yehudis gives love.

I never would have guessed how this story might ooze back into my life. A few months later, I was in Paris and scrolling through Tinder. I saw a profile and felt like I needed to meet the guy. After asking Nathan four times in the first ten minutes for a date, he agreed. We met and have been together ever since. Just a few weeks after meeting, I told Nathan that I don’t know why, but I’m going to marry him one day. He got really quiet and finally said “I think this will work because you’re crazier than me”. All the other girls he dated had the opposite relationship with him. It was Nathan with the compulsion, the desire to pour love and express everything to them. Telling him my feelings and thoughts helped solidify us from the start. We both felt and told each other we’re going to be together forever.

We haven’t gotten married yet and I don’t know if we’ll be together forever, but the love we’ve had for the past four and a half years made sharing love freely worth it. I hope David finds this boundary-free love too.

_______

Most people I’ve met stayed as one-time strangers. I don’t mind that. We become guiding posts on this journey through life. My partner Nathan was a one-time stranger who stuck around. My friend Ayleen, also from Paris, did too.

When I moved to France, I saw a post on Facebook from a girl down to hang out. We met for dinner and introduced ourselves. We shared everything about us that usually shocks people. Ayleen had seven siblings (I have 14) and was married to her cousin (common enough in my community). She was young but had a kid already (many of my friends got married at 18/19 years old). We laughed at how normal we were to each other. We came from opposite everything and had so many similarities. She was from Pakistan and Muslim, I was from America and Jewish, and we became friends.

I was always curious about Muslim views on Jews. I knew what my community told me, what I read in the media and what the extremists pushed. I had never spoken to a regular Muslim about their regular thoughts. She was curious too, so we spent hours grilling each other. I told her we were raised to hate Muslims because they kept trying to kill us. I explained that as I got older, I suspected that not all Muslims were bad. In fact, most were actually very good. She shared that all she knew was that Jews lived in Israel and they fought with Palestinians. No one ever told her to hate anyone.

She asked me once to come to the theater with her. I didn't know what we were going to watch. We sat down and Jojo Rabbit started to play. It’s a comedy-drama film about the Holocaust. A few minutes later, she tapped me on the shoulder. Ayleen whispered apologetically “I’m so sorry for taking you here. I forgot that your family must’ve gone through the Holocaust. I hope this movie doesn’t trigger you.” I wasn’t bothered watching but I couldn’t believe her sensitivity. She was Muslim and I was Jewish, and it mattered so much. It mattered because it gave Ayleen context to be thoughtful and care.

A short while later, we both moved from Paris. During those few months of friendship, I learned about Pakistani foods, cultures, customs, and oh my god, all about their two-week weddings. We left each other with the sweet taste of humanity. Senseless, passionate hatred is not as common as we make it out to be. Most people are good, most people love and want to care.

________

Every time I’ve met and connected with a stranger, my world became a little bigger. I learned something, I felt something. Strangers helped me grow. David, the Indian cofounder, my one-night angel and my partner of four and a half years have all shown me how to love. Without any judgment or doubts, they allowed me to experience life through their eyes. They opened a space for me to be. Particularly with Mark in Pisa, I had one of the most intensely transformative experiences of my life. It freed me.

The story with Mark continued after sunrise. When the day just started to heat up, I called my mother. I was hungry and probably a bit hungover. It was early in Milwaukee. My mother was in the middle of preparing lunches for my little siblings back home. She picked up and I told her what happened with this stranger on the beach. My mother knew that my sister molested me. That hurt her. She hurt because I hurt. I didn’t want my mother to experience more pain, but for so long I didn’t know how to calm her. How could I if I felt the same?

That morning, I told my mother I understood my sister. I told my mother maybe she could too. I didn’t hate my sister anymore so maybe my mother could start to find her own healing with her. It felt like I was giving her permission to love again.

My mother inspired my way of being. She taught me to be open to the world. She showed me how to allow people into my heart. Because of my mother, I met Mark. Because of Mark, I found peace with some of the closest people in my life.

This is why I talk to strangers.

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