Conclusion: Reflections On Time Well Spent

End, beginning, or stop along the way?

This was a brilliant idea.

The past thirty days have involved much more than just meeting thirty new people. They've opened the door to a whole new world of things to do out there.

In the past thirty days, I've fallen in love with Berkeley. I've discovered the power of Meetup. I've learned to stop being so shy and face the possibility of awkwardness. I've seen that my days are better when other people are in them. I've realized which of my interests are things that are easy to share. I've seen what can happen if you're just willing to ask. I've experienced the transformative power of turning fears into goals. And best of all, I don't feel so alone.

As the project draws to a close, at least this phase of it, I keep coming across hints that I may be on to something big and important here with my emphasis on just getting out there.

The cover story of the New York Times magazine a few weeks ago was about research on the health effects of social networks. As Danny read it aloud to me the other night, I couldn't help hitting him on the arm and saying, "See!"

"If you want to be happy, what’s most important is to have lots of friends. Historically, we have often thought that having a small cluster of tight, long-term friends is crucial to being happy. But Christakis and Fowler found that the happiest people...were those who had the most connections, even if the relationships weren’t necessarily deep ones.

The reason these people were the happiest, the duo theorize, is that happiness doesn’t come only from having deep, heart-to-heart talks. It also comes from having daily exposure to many small moments of contagious happiness."

Small moments of contagious happiness. That's what's missing when I sit at home all day with the cat. That's what a night of Irish dancing or an afternoon tutoring kids or a bike ride with strangers can bring to me.

Then a couple nights later, we watched an episode of This American Life's TV show which includes an act about high school yearbook photos. One character is a girl who everyone just seems to know. When the producers finally meet her themselves, she explains that she's moved a lot so she just tries to be known, tries to meet people. Of all the high schoolers, she was the most impressive: wise for age 15, sweet, thoughtful. I was never like her then, but I'd love to be now.

So now it's time to let the results settle in. To get in touch will the people I vowed to see again, and find time to make it happen. To start the slow process of building friendships out of "nice to meet you". To start living life as a genuine member of a community. And yes, to take a break from constantly searching for today's person to write about.

But there are still so many people I want to meet. Friends of friends who I never quite got scheduled up with. Neighbors whose potluck I wasn't around for. Events I intended to go with but never had to in order to make my quota. And the project is so helpful in making sure I actually do these things. And I have some momentum going here that I don't want to just let slip away into entropy again.

So I hereby propose a modified, sustainable, long-term version of the Encantada Project: one new person every week from here until infinity. Or until the cost outweighs the benefit, whichever comes first. But I'm shooting for infinity.

I'm going to take some time off to recover from the thirty-day blitz, so the weekly blogging may not begin until the end of the month. I'll probably be less diligent with the photos. But I love the structure, and the possibilities it allows me. I'm not quite ready to be all the way done.

For tonight, though, I'm going to have a quiet dinner with my boyfriend, appreciate my life, and drink the Day 1 bottle of wine. Here's to all the great people who made this possible by being willing to be met: Le'chaim!

Day 30: Infinite Possibilities

Lea pondering the infinite possibilities

Oh dear. I don't know how to begin. That's what the end does to a person, I suppose. I feel like today's post needs to be a masterpiece of insight and wit. No pressure. I hereby declare that it won't be, and I'll move on anyhow.

How is a small metal carrot like a plastic football helmet, a bead in the shape of a die, a rose made of ribbon, and a tiny glass vial of mung beans? Such are the mysteries that Lea Redmond's game, Infinite Possibilities, asks its players to ponder. I answered thusly:

Like roses, carrots grow in the garden. Football players need to eat their vegetables to get big and strong. Planting carrots is always a gamble, because you never know what you're going to get. And if you do get a enough, you can always can them in jars, like the mung beans.

I had the pleasure of playing Lea's game over lemonade this afternoon because many months ago Lea wrote a letter for me. Lea is an artist. One of Lea's art projects is The World's Smallest Postal Service, which I encountered at an Oakland Art Murmur and made use of several times. The WSPS is a service where Lea will transcribe anything you write into a tiny little letter and mail it off for you. It's delightful.

So technically I had met Lea before today. But not really.

Lea had been on my list of people in the area who I was hoping Encantada could help me connect with. Others on the list include author Mary Roach and some important local government official to be named later. But somehow a whole month slipped by without me contacting any of these people I'd admired from afar. My plan for today's Encantada Finale was to attend services at the Unitarian Church, another thing I'd meant to do but hadn't.

But then fate intervened. Yesterday, Lea sent out a newsletter about her artistic endeavors, and I remembered how much I'd been hoping to meet the charmingly creative mind behind it all, in an actual conversational and non-transactional way. So I emailed her. I sent her a rambling request for the pleasure of her company, and mentioned the project, but noted that she'd only be a part of it officially if she had time today.

"Wasn't that really scary?" Danny asked. No, not a bit. I wanted to meet her so I told her so. "Then I think your project worked," he concluded. Hmmm.

Inspired by the idea of A Project, Lea found time today for sitting in a cafe with me. It was lovely. We talked about art and writing and getting to know people, and played with her game, which she explains is like collaborative poetry with objects.

The cafe closed, and as we said our goodbyes and headed toward our respective bicycles, I took a moment to spread my arms and say with glee, "I'm done! I did it!"

"You're a superhero!" she replied, and she meant it. I zoomed home full of joy.

Day 29: Souley Vegan

Katia, with Big Mama Thornton lookin' on

Holy vegan food, what a great night that was.

This was kind of an epic Meetup event in some ways. Seventy-five people signed up for a quiet evening out with the Berkeley Vegan Dinner Club. Why so many? Soul food. Come on.

The restaurant, Souley Vegan, has just returned from a long hiatus of renovation and other drama, which approximately matched the length of time we've lived here. So I'd heard about the place -- it's even on the list on the fridge of restaurants we want to try -- but hadn't had the pleasure.

The line to order snaked into the far recesses of the main room when we arrived. But what do you expect when 75 people all arrive at the exact same time? We grabbed our yellow paper menu and had some decisions to make. Until then we didn't: there was an Everything Plate. Case closed. Good thing Danny was with me, or I might have had to choose between barbecue or southern fried tofu, between lentils and black beans, between corn bread potato salad. Instead, I got it all, and more.

In line, we had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Ms. Katia, pictured above. She's a senior at UCB, majoring in something cool and interdisciplinary and oh so very Berkeley which I believe was called Development Studies (as in countries, not babies). Before we'd even gotten to the counter I'd explained the whole project thing, and I was back in the groove.

We placed our orders then made our way to one of the long banquet tables they had set up in the back room, many of which were already full. Soon a batch of other wonderful vegan food lovers joined us, and a lively dinner was had by all. The only bad part was that they ran out of peach cobbler, cheesecake, AND sweet potato pie, so we had to settle for apple cobbler for dessert.

Other highlights: I met a woman named Breanne who's going to tell me all the great places I should eat when I visit NYC next month. Katia mentioned she really wanted a bike, and Danny remembered we have one sitting in our garage looking for a good home, so that transaction will happen soon. On our walk back to the bus stop we saw this:

Katia ended up riding the bus with us until we got off to go home. As we pressed the button for our stop, she shared this gem from a human rights class professor: If the questions you're asking can be answered in this lifetime, maybe you're asking the wrong questions.

Nice thought.

I'm glad to have made some effort here tonight. One more day, one day more....

Day 28: A Little Help From My Friends

These guys don't look like the Beatles...

"Oh come on, you're so close! Don't give up now..." This was Danny at around 3 pm on Friday, after I told him about the admittedly lame encounter I was going to count for my Encantada of the day.

I'd helped the woman sitting next to me at the coffee shop figure out how to make an astronaut costume for her 3 year old son (the East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse was my main contribution). We'd had a pleasant interaction, on a non-trivial topic, but I'd hadn't asked her name, nor had I told her about the project. I could have. I had no good reason not to, other than that I was "doing homework" and didn't want to interrupt the flow any more than I already was doing. Bad excuse. Danny had pegged me pretty good: I was just kind of giving up.

Why is it that the follow-through can be so hard? I've had this problem before. It's painful to admit it might be a trend, this getting excited about starting something but struggling to keep it going once the payoff stops being obvious. My mother could no doubt pull out oodles of examples, like when I wanted to quit the flute or my experience with diving lessons. The not-doing-my-homework of this morning feels like an example, even -- I'm at a spot right now where what I'm trying to write isn't coming together in an obvious way, which makes me not even want to bother dealing with it. I'm at finding reasons why what I've already done is good enough, even if doing more is good quite likely to make it better.

In the Encantada case, it's not that I don't want to finish the project. I intend to. I'm here writing, aren't I? It's just that I feel like I've already gotten out of it what I hoped to get out of it, and I'm having trouble finishing it off with gusto. "Finish hard to the wall" is a tried-and-true bit of swim coach advice. Clearly I am not doing that.

Luckily, my next door neighbors swooped in last night for an eleventh-hour save. Just as me, Danny, my cousin, and her husband were sitting down to play a board game (fun, but nothing new here), Robert, the video game reviewer who lives in the next condo over, knocked on the door. "We're playing Beatles Rock Band over here, I don't know if you're in for the night, but you should come join." So we did.

Robert had three friends already there, positioned around the fake instruments. There were Mike, Diane, and a guy who's name I didn't catch but who learned to play some mean drums all by playing the video game. It wasn't the most conversational of settings, but it was definitely fun. Three part harmonies and back-up vocals meant that 6 people could be playing all at once. And everyone could sing along, even if they weren't part of the game. Once Robert's wife Sarah came home from her softball game, we had enough women for an all-girl rendition of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" (I played drums).

And, inspired and prodded by Danny's afternoon call-out, I left and went home to get the camera to document the evening. I told everyone about the project, and why I was taking photos. I even finally told Robert that I've been following him on Twitter for months, which, even though he has thousands of followers, occasionally leads to some creepy moments of knowing more than is normal about what your neighbors are doing. After a final rendition of "A Little Help From My Friends," we headed home, basking in the glow of great music, good people, and games that move by themselves.

Day 27: Brief Encounters

Danny pauses downtown at night after an evening at A.C.T.

The woman in line in front of us was curved into her walker, but her hair was dark and her skin still stretched tight across her face. She was dressed for an evening out: white linen jacket with swirls stitched in rows across her back, chunky necklaces with bead of stone draped down her chest. "You from the city?" she asked as we filed in behind her. I felt self conscious in my t-shirt, even though it was a relatively nice one.

"Berkeley," I answered.

"Subscribers?"

"Nope." By this time Danny had retreated to the safety of the crowd behind us. I was making my own new friend.

"Ah, so you like Noel Coward." This was true. We'd seen a Cal Shakes performance of "Private Lives" in June. It was witty and fresh, despite the script being decades old. Young compared to Shakespeare, of course.

"I'm trying to figure out what this line's about," she continued. "I was running late already, and I need to use the restroom, and now this."

"Well if everybody's stuck outside, I'm sure they'll hold it."

"That's what I'm doing right now!" she replied. I smiled.

Then she started telling me about another play she'd seen last year, one she was sure I would have liked.

A security guard with grey polo shirt and a foam earpiece stopped by and interrupted. "This one's just fun and really well done. You're going to love it," she told my companion as she lay a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to move further down the sidewalk, my friend said something that got lost in the din of the crowded sidewalk. The guard turned back, catching my eye. I shrugged. By the time she reached us again, the older woman was staring straight ahead, gathering her thoughts perhaps. The guard left again. The older woman must have remembered her thought, or had a new one; she turned herself this time and started talking. The guard was long gone. I shrugged again. "I wanted to ask what the line was about," she said, before resuming her explanation of the last play.

I had trouble concentrating on what she was saying. I noticed her lipstick. She was wearing more make-up than me. Something about a rich untalented piano player?

Just as I was about to ask her her name, a large black man in a suit came and tapped her shoulder. "You can come with me," he said, leading her away from the stairs and towards the ramp to get in. It seemed like he knew her too.

"When I'm her age, that's how I want to be," I told Danny.

"What, people helping you but independent too?"

"Yeah, helping me because they know and like me, not because they feel sorry for me or anything. And going to the theater all the time."

Once we inched through the double doors and the slow, ritual, ripping of the tickets, I noticed my friend standing near the elevator. "What do you think, should we join her?" I asked Danny.

"I just always automatically take the stairs."

I wavered. Then I grabbed his arm and dragged him across the lobby to where she was standing. Just as I was about to mosey up beside her, I noticed the wrong button was lit. She was going down; we needed to be two floors up. I made a sharp turn for the stairs, and in my head I wished her a good night.

The play, which I loved, was called Brief Encounters.