With the sky bright blue and a weekend without too many to-dos, I spent a lot of time outdoors this past weekend. Several hours reading–and marking up–my copy of Patti Digh‘s Life is a Verb, sipping iced raspberry green tea out on the patio, dipping every vegetable I could get my hands on into my doctored-up humus, marveling at the upside-down sky while in a standing split on top of my backyard hill, and taking lots and lots of walks. On these walks, I couldn’t help but notice, it seems that only the little kids say hello. Unabashed hellos with wildly flailing hands and “outdoor” voices.

“Hihihi!” called out one little girl with plush, cupcake-like pigtails and pink shorts, her grandfather back in the distance.

“Hieeeee,” squeaked a toddling boy dressed in Nemo pull-ups and splashing in his inflatable pool. His mother kept her back turned as I waved and squeaked back a hieeee.

And then there was Anthony, the bespectacled four-year-old who shouted out, “Can I pet your puppy?” as we walked by and then proceeded to wrap his arms around our old pooch Inky‘s neck and tell us how much he loved our dog and that he, too, had a puppy–a husky pup named Shadow–and that we could come over and meet him sometime soon. Whew. His parents encouraged him to say goodbye to “our puppy” and to let us go on our way. Truth be told–I was okay with engaging in preschool banter with a neighbor kid. I know that, in a couple of years, Anthony, the pull-ups kid, and cupcake curls will stop calling out their friendly hellos and extending hugs to docile neighborhood dogs. And that bums me out.

I attended this little utopia of a university out in Pennsylvania where everyone said hi to one another, whether you knew each other or not. I remember the first few times I was hello’d by smiling strangers, I didn’t really know what to make of it. Being a third-generation New Englander, that’s just not the way it’s done back home. Why is that? What happens to us as we get older? And what was it about my little utopia that gave us all permission again to say hi to a stranger? The only thing that makes us strangers is the fact that we havn’t yet said hello. Right?

There’s a chapter in Patti Digh’s book titled “Just Wave.” She talks about the subtext of this gesture, calling it “a recognition of humanity on both . . . parts–a connection, however brief.” Back when I was in my yoga teacher training program and giving it my all to make that connection–however brief–with my students, I had a quote from Chopra’s Seven Spiritual Laws of Success (page 65, I think) that I would repeat over and over to myself : “When you experience uncertainty, you’re on the right path, so don’t give up.” Those words kept me from keeling over mid-instruction–and did a little something to relieve the pressure of a “perfect” delivery.

Several months into teaching, I noticed my mantra had unknowingly morphed. Uncertainty had been replaced with connection. What I had been repeating over and over to myself was this:

“When you experience humanity, you’re on the right path, so don’t give up.”

These moments of humanity, these extended connections with a community of strangers-turned-friends, made me feel like I was five years old again. Completely oblivious to Frost’s walls.

So, what is it about our cold, long, New England winters; our reservedness; our need for privacy and boundaries that holds us back? When’s the last time you made a connection with the person behind the check-out counter, next to you on the train, or walking down the sidewalk? What’s stopping you? Do you need a double-dog dare?

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© 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space–both mentally and physically–to live happily ever after. (photo © Pamela Glaysher)

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