Complete Stranger Love + Eros and Me by Merve Tarhan

“With friends like these, who needs enemies?” How many times have you heard that old saw? In my life, it can apply as much to relatives. For this reason (and because strangers are sources of great story ideas — read about my novels to-be-published here), let’s lavish some love on complete strangers!

Sure, I’ve experienced stranger danger. Yet more often than not, meeting friends I don’t know has rewarded me with the complete opposite of harm. When my car has stalled, unknown helpers pushed it out of traffic. One handed me a bottle of water. Another let me use his phone to call home. Unfamiliar folk can usually be counted on for directions. Without me asking, they proffer coins when I’m short at the cash register. A couple of weeks ago when my shopping cart got stuck at one of those dang magnetic fences, the kind that wouldn’t let me exceed the parking lot even though it’s being paved meant I had to park a distance away, someone watched my buggy while I ran inside to ask an employee to unlock the wheels. As a child, nice strangers offered hope that life didn’t have to hurt. Nowadays, chatting with random people lets me step out of the bubble of like-minded and like-backgrounded people I usually interact with.

Who can be safer to broach touchy subjects with than someone who knows neither me nor anyone in my life? Without fear of repercussions, a fellow bus passenger can jump right in with their own grumbles about bosses and coworkers. Secrets are safe in the ethers of stranger-ville.

This isn’t to say that if you and I met in real life, and we knew we wouldn’t meet later, you’d need to keep your distance. I wouldn’t ask huge favors of you or bend your ear with a litany of predicaments. I’d be careful to see if you’re game to interact. Politeness and empathy are always paramount. What I’m getting at is that I feel sorry for those who are afraid of anything beyond bland nonsense with a someone they haven’t met and likely will never see again.

“There are no strangers here, only friends you haven’t met yet,” is widely attributed to acclaimed Irish poet William Butler Yeats. While he wasn’t only talking about complete strangers, I totally agree!

Since I don’t already know a complete stranger, I don’t take it personally if they shy away from me. If anything, I feel sorry for whatever made them fearful of others. After all, we humans have more in common than not. To begin with, our species is singular for heaping mental pain upon ourselves, fear of strangers included. All the pets I’ve known were emotional creatures, but none appeared to fritter away days or lose nights of sleep ruminating over how awful their actions were and how they were perceived.

Close your eyes, listen, and sniff to confirm how alike we are. Mornings are peppered with aromas of coffee and pancakes, the beeps and dings and brrrings of microwaves, alarm clocks, and car alarms. Late afternoons, front doors are rattled open, greetings are trilled to pets and other fellow inhabitants, then smells of dinners being cooked or warmed. The honking of traffic is all of us coming or going places at the same time.

Are you shy of strangers? Or do you gravitate toward them? Or feel neutral? For me, I see opportunities for fun, connection, fresh stories, and new beginnings!

Today’s guest blog post is by blogger/writer/editor Merve Tarhan. She has 10+ years of experience as a psychotherapist. Born and raised in Istanbul, Türkiye, she and her two cats, Neptune and Mercury, live in Ankara. Her latest book, her fourth, Just an Ordinary Day, is now out. Her poem that follows isn’t specifically about strangers and connection, rather it’s about solitude and the creative process. She explains, “Psychoanalytically, Eros symbolises life and Thanatos symbolises death. For writers, editors, and artists, a safe and quiet space to create often brings us closer to Eros — it gives us life.”

Eros and Me by Merve Tarhan

My galaxy is real

Blue, green and orange-black

Coffee, papers

I am alive

Under a vast space

And it is expanding

No one’s watching.

In this galaxy

A lucid, electric season

The sound of paper

The power of music

No need to prove a thing.

You pour oats into a bowl.

One sound, then another.

Milk falls from a box.

You stir.

The spoon clinks.

Another morning begins.

Words don’t fall here.

They float.

Like socks in a dryer.

There is no gravity.

Nothing pulls me down here.

Not even me.

When was the last time?

You were happy.

Maybe it is time

To name a new galaxy

So you say to yourself:

Maybe I’ve lost everything 

Except me.

Uranus and Neptune

Pluto and Mercury

Thanatos is gone. 

Now Eros and me.