Sometimes You are the Novelty in the Room

One thing I am missing as 2020 marches along is the opportunity to travel. In an effort to do our part for the collective good, we’re staying close to home as the world tries to get the upper hand on the pandemic. The fact that many countries’ borders are closed to international visitors makes travel simultaneously less tempting and more frustrating. Even within the U.S., we are taking a watchful approach in light of surges associated with large groups. Judi and I realized today that the last time we ventured beyond a three county radius of our home was in January. On that occasion, we returned from a visit to four Middle Eastern countries just as attention was shifting to China’s experience with COVID-19.

If I never have the opportunity to travel abroad again, I’ll have no reason to complain. We developed a travel bug early in our marriage and have seen quite a bit of the world. We joked at the time that we’d travel while we were young and browse through vacation photo albums when we were old and less interested in long plane flights and crowded places. I am not ready to declare myself old just yet, but I have been flipping through my pictures of late. Viewing them reminded me of how often I seemed to be a novelty to people we met around the world. Those who know me may not be surprised, arguing only to change the adjective from “novelty” to “oddity.” You’re entitled to your opinion! Heck, you may be right!

The photo included on this page captures an impromptu moment along a highway in southern India from a couple of years ago. The people we met and the culture we experienced were the highlights of that trip, much of it brought alive by an exceptional guide who assumed everyone we met was happy to stop what they were doing and converse with our small group. To that end, as we barreled down a highway toward our next destination we passed a flatbed truck. The back of it was stuffed with people, young and old, plus one goat! Together they calmly bounced down the road, feeling every bump and dip. Our guide knew immediately that they were likely traveling to a local shrine where they’d sacrifice the animal as a thanksgiving offering. “We must talk with them,” he insisted. So the driver of our bus sped ahead, outpacing the truck. A bit further up the highway, we stopped along the shoulder of the road, where our guide exited the vehicle and flagged them down.

Our guide was correct. The group was happy to briefly interrupt their trip, tell us where they were going and why. According to them, their prayers had been answered. The desired blessing of a new child had come to fruition in their lives. They were going now to offer this animal in thanksgiving.

They wanted a photo (as did I!) which led to the picture you see at the top of this blog. Maybe it was because I’m light skinned, or not Indian. Or perhaps they just like to meet new people. As much as they were offering a new experience to us, we, too, gave them one as well. That is a fact easy to overlook if we think our point of view is the only one alive in a moment of exchange with another person. I love this photo precisely because I don’t know any of the other people in it but they have momentarily welcomed and embraced me. We met through an act of serendipity, had a pleasant exchange, will probably never see each other again, but we all wanted to remember the encounter anyway. The snapshot reminds me that a generosity of spirit can be found among strangers that welcomes and invites us to sample one another’s world. I realize we can’t assume that will always be the case, sadly; but I find the possibility encouraging in the midst of news stories filled with confrontation and violence between strangers who are certain their differences divide them. Even if we prefer our own ways for no other reason than simply “because,” encounters like this one can build understanding, appreciation, and/or respect for the rich varieties in life—qualities that promote harmonious co-existence.

Another photo reminded me of the time I stood in Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China. As I stood there soaking it in, I was trying to imagine the protests that occurred in that very place. I was recalling that a first cousin on my mother’s side had actually been there, out among the people as the protests raged, hoping that a visible American observer might encourage restraint among those in power. That was the moment I was having when a young Chinese boy approached and asked if he could take a picture of me—something to remember the large, tallish white guy. As it turns out, the photo was being requested on behalf of his father, who wanted a picture of himself photographed beside me. I gladly obliged. We stood together smiling, his head barely reaching my shoulder height. Afterwards, he asked if he could touch my beard. That really caught me off guard, but why not? It was an odd moment to stand where these protests took place, feeling the sensation of a stranger’s fingers running through my beard. In the midst of the novelty, we were both having a cross-cultural experience!

Then there was a picture of the time a Japanese tourist mistook me for a Greek fisherman and wanted to pose for a photo with me. Admittedly, we were on a dock in Greece. Wearing a Greek fisherman’s hat and a yellow rain jacket, with my beard I bore a slight resemblance to Popeye’s nemesis Brutus and looked the part, I suppose. A large name tag also hung around my neck, identifying me as a member of a tour group, as was he, but it must have been all Greek to him! My attempts to explain led to smiles, nods, and repeated requests for permission to take a photo. I finally resigned myself to play the part. He took the picture of us standing together, arms embraced with huge smiles. Now I’m probably stuffed in a vacation album tucked away in a Tokyo closet or maybe framed and hanging on a wall somewhere in a Japanese home.

We can probably all recall moments when we experienced something novel. It captured our attention and raised our curiosity. We sensed wonder, illumination, or maybe something less significant but nonetheless insightful and valuable. Those occasions are priceless in our understanding of the world in all its beauty and tragedy. They develop our perspective and deepen our ability to know and navigate. But here is the thing. There are moments—probably more than we recognize—when we are someone else’s novelty. Their experience of us plants a memory deep within their heart where it is carried until one day something calls it forth again. I was walking down a street in Antigua, Guatemala a decade after my first visit—ten years after sitting in Spanish classes six hours a day for two-weeks of on individual instruction. Judi and I were recalling landmarks in the area when a motorcycle pulled beside us and turned off the engine. The driver removed his helmet and said, “Hola, Jay. Bienvenido de nuevo a Antigua.” (Hello, Jay. Welcome back to Antigua.) It was Henry, my Spanish instructor during that first trip. I was blown away that he remembered me at all, let alone could recognize me on a sidewalk as he passed by on a motorcycle. I knew that initial visit had been a novel one for me in many ways, but had no idea it would be memorable for a teacher who sees several short-term students over the course of a year.

It is good to experience moments when you are the one different in a crowd. How might it feel to be the only white person in a room where everyone else is a person of color? Or vice versa?  Or the only American in a room of Asians or Africans? Or the oldest couple in a restaurant frequented by young whippersnappers still sowing their oats? And how might it be for them to witness you in their space, especially if you’re at ease and enjoying the experience? Those times teach us that the world is not viewed solely from our point of view. We do not have the only voices deciphering what is happening. We are not the only ones being affected by what transpires. We are not the only ones making memories and having our reality altered.

Moments like these remind me that at times I am someone else’s novelty. I am the odd one in the room. While that can be surprising or even unsettling, it is often best to just relax, breathe, and go with the moment. Whenever we are the novelty in the room, we have the opportunity to help widen someone else’s experience, expand their point of view, broaden their horizon, or stretch their boundaries just a bit. I would contend that those novel moments have made me a better person, more capable of enjoying life and making useful contributions to those I meet along the way. I only hope my novelty has done the same for them.