Maybe they are the love of your life. Maybe they will teach you some of life's most important lessons. Maybe they are everything you are supposed to become. But until then, they are just a stranger.
The profoundness of a stick of gum struck me on my train ride from Rome to Florence. This idea is not new, Extra even uses it as their branding. But I grew up shielding my gum packet from other children on the bus home from school, and I do not think I am the only one that felt "15 opportunities to connect" was a completely absurd concept. But a random stranger changed my mind.
He was an older man, I would guess nearing seventy years old. He boarded the train with a brown paper bag which held a book also wrapped in new plastic film. Unwrapping it, he exposed a biography - written in Italian, of course. Clearly, he was intelligent and a proper gentleman as well, which he demonstrated by helping to lift my backpack into the overhead compartment before I took to my assigned window seat. He was the kind of put together that made me feel comfortable and safe inviting him into my solo travels. Despite immediately opening his new book, he attempted making conversation first. And upon realizing I did not speak Italian, we introduced ourselves in very broken English. And that is where the conversation ended. Until I opened my pack of gum.
I took out my own piece and turned towards him, just sort of nudging the pack his way and raising an eyebrow. I felt weird - I am sure I looked that way. But in return, I saw truly one of the most emphatic expressions I have ever seen. I did not know a human could smile that large, especially at a piece of gum. But he smiled and reached for his own piece, not waiting for me to give one to him. The stick served as a fire starter log for our warm conversation. For the rest of the train ride, we were in and out of discussion, finding ways to connect through our minimal shared words. He asked where I was traveling after Florence. I was making my way all the way up north to Lake Como, which was his home. Once again, he was enthusiastic to share something between us. In an act to invite me into his origin city, he showed me his weather app and when the sun would be shining most while I was there. An innocent gesture that meant much more than if I were to check the forecast myself.
He eventually got off the train before I did. Before exiting, he took my bag down for me and set it in his seat, a replacement for my company. We waved a kind wave and smiled so big again I swear I could see green spearmint peaking through his teeth. And that was it. We ended on such a kind gesture; I did not want these connections to stop almost as a pay-it-forward to this kind, elderly man. So, on my eventual train to Lake Como a few days later, I repeated my actions with another stranger. A piece of gum in return for an attempt to overcome a language barrier. An unexpected act of kindness in return for forgiveness towards my foreign ignorance. And it worked. New smiles were shared, if nothing else.
I swore then I would always carry a pack of gum on me for the rest of my life. Gum counteracts staleness. But this includes staleness in life, in the everyday interactions that we grow so accustomed. These exchanges offer generosity from one and the willingness from the other to receive, creating a mutual understanding that maybe you are not meant to mean nothing to each other after all, maybe you are more than just passer-byers. But that is all that you are, until a little piece of gum.
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