Waking up in strange places is nothing new to me. Hotels. Airplanes. Buses. Taxis. There’s a certain pull when I end up landing somewhere new, or even if it’s somewhere I’ve been once or twice before. The vibe of it, the energy. It never quite wears off, clinging like an invisible pollen. And I love it.

That’s the extrovert life.

A new restaurant, for instance. Last week it was some eclectic fusion of Asian and Italian cuisine — a clash of cultures mixing together on a single plate. The food was fun, to be sure. But the patrons at the next table, no connection to us whatsoever, were strangers wearing a different pair of glasses to view the world. That right there is what I’m really after. Every new face is another opportunity to see and experience what their life is like. It’s a chance to see what it means to be human. So when Alissa looked over and said, “Wow. That looks delicious. What did you get?” to a four-top of total strangers, I wasn’t surprised. I was excited, waiting to see if we’d gain new friends.

And extroverts like me? I get a kick out of it. The excitement and energy of it. I hum with that energy.

Like it or not, even for me, there is a cost. Sometimes the piece is small, like the music in a hotel restaurant — 90s hits blasting through the Bose speakers when I would’ve preferred silence. Sometimes it’s traversing through what’s acceptable to one generation that isn’t to another. And it’s more complicated than it sounds. Occasionally it’s small, like breakfast service at hotels. Once upon a time, maybe thirteen years ago, you could have a hot meal with the purchase of your stay. Then six years ago, COVID changed the math on hospitality. Prepackaged. Microwaved. Available? Yes — for an additional charge.

Small losses. Real ones.

Like the time I thought I was being friendly. Her name tag, from my point of view, without my glasses on, looked very unique. “Am I reading that right?” I asked. “Is your name Fran?”

Rail thin, blonde hair, brown eyes. She stared at me like it was the most offensive thing I could possibly say to her. Like I told her hair looked like total garbage and she was in dire need of a makeover.

“Um, yes. Why?” Fran snapped back.

“Oh,” I said, shocked at such a quick response. “I think it’s a very unique name. I’ve not met very many Frans in my life. That’s all. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” I picked up my glasses from the bar, showing her I needed them.

She was very cold, unlike my food which was delicious.

Like it or not, the strangers? They will still be strangers. New restaurants. Unique opportunities to interact with younger generations. Plus the energy. The feeling of landing somewhere unfamiliar, finding your footing, and getting recharged from the interactions — that’s still there too.

Whatever the cost, I keep paying. Because at the end of the day? I figure it costs me no more than five minutes. One interaction could change my life. Or maybe, I can change theirs.