We were truly shocked.
Our current nomadic journey has taken us to a variety of Alaskan towns on a cruise. My wife Lisa and I were returning from our morning hike on Canada’s Prince Rupert Island when a woman walking leisurely in front of us on the sidewalk stepped aside to let us pass. We waved our thanks and continued on.
The woman caught up with us a few minutes later when we stopped to check directions. Lisa made a friendly comment and the woman responded warmly, asking us if we lived there. When we said we were visiting, she recommended her favorite sights and restaurants before wishing us well and moving on.
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting on a bench admiring the beauty of Sunken Gardens Park when I noticed an elderly man slowly approaching along the path in front of us. He wore an unusually tall wicker hat and carried a circular hand drum, and was dressed in a tee shirt and shorts despite the chill air.
When the man reached us, he stopped and broke into an honest gap-toothed smile above his Gandalf-worthy beard. Given our previous experiences in the US and other parts of the world, we were bracing ourselves for a request for money.
We couldn’t have been more wrong. He had guessed we were visiting and just wanted to welcome us to his city. We thanked him, and Lisa mentioned how unpleasant it must be for the locals at times to have cruise ships full of people descend on their town. The man’s smile broadened. He told us his grandmother had taught him that the way he should respond to meeting new people was like this—he spread his arms wide in a gesture of acceptance.
This wisened old man shared how his First Nation culture highly valued community, with one of the four local tribes regularly hosting the other three for feasts. He said if we were in town longer, that we would be welcome. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “We love to celebrate.”
He waved his goodbyes and walked slowly off, pausing in a nearby tunnel to chant a song of his people to himself, simply for the joy of experiencing the acoustics. He was one of the warmest and most fascinating people I’ve ever met.
As we made our way back to the ship, a young man sitting with friends in another park asked us if we were on the cruise. We engaged in a long conversation and learned he’d been a crab fisherman for thirteen years, sailing five hours out to sea in a small boat for up to ten days at a time. When Lisa commented on how exceedingly friendly everyone had been, one of the man’s friends said, “That’s our way here. It’s nice to know your neighbors.”
As we said our goodbyes and walked to the ship, Lisa and I talked of how unusual and delightful our experience of Prince Rupert had been. It motivated us to bring some of the gratuitous friendliness we’d encountered everywhere we go.
Do you want to blow people’s minds? Be gratuitously friendly. It costs you little and gives much to you and those you meet. If you do, you’ll have a more joyful life, and you’ll take another step toward Becoming Yourself.