Conversations with strangers

I talk to the most interesting people at my job.

For someone who's always felt reticent about approaching other to strike up a conversation but who's enjoyed interaction with others, my job is the perfect combination of small talk and fulfilling chatter. It's ideal because I stand there, wearing my green shirt like a beacon of approachability. "Can I ask you a question?" they say- sometimes tentatively, sometimes expectantly- and then the ball gets rolling; the ice has been broken. I turn to the person, smile and so it begins.

I enjoy talking to people, I really do. I love the exchange of ideas, and I love even more the respect shown in drawing lines in the sand between dissenting opinions. They may have a certain idea of how their garden should grow which clashes with mine and that's cool; I recognize that my style is edgier and more daring than most people's and try not to foist it on them.

The other day, I talked to this heartbreakingly lovely grandmother. She had been gardening her whole life and couldn't anymore, but still knew exactly what kind of plants she liked and how everything should look. Impeccably-behaved grandson in tow (her "sunshine", she called him), we chatted about plants, grasses and just life in general. This woman had a fight, a steeliness, in her that made me wish that when I got to her age and stage, I'd possess half of that.

That's just one of the many reasons I can't believe I lucked out with this job. I get paid to converse with people- people who approach me and put me at ease. Every day I'm there, I work just that much more on my discomfort in approaching others and far more often than not, I'd gladly pay to have that opportunity.