Unleashed Opinion
Let’s Be Friends
Opening his door to expand his community,
this alumnus hopes to meet an engineer
or a Conservative.
By Mark Hopkins
I live in a bubble.
OK, it’s a nice bubble. It’s got all my stuff, some friendly people, a few good pubs. My job, my DVD collection and my bizarre fondness for pimento-stuffed olives all fit comfortably in the bubble’s core. The walls are transparent and distant and most of the time I live my life blissfully ignorant that there’s a bubble at all!
Then I met the ballet dancers.
See, when it comes to art, I’m a dabbler. Theatre, poetry readings, gallery openings, rock concerts, dance shows: you name it, I’m there. But I’ve always shied away from “high art”—ballet, opera, philharmonic orchestra. They seem daunting, saddled with the baggage of fancy clothes, looming auditoriums, wealthy patrons. It’s all a bit much.
Imagine my terror, then, when I met several company dancers from Alberta Ballet. These are people who perform sold-out shows to 2,500-person audiences, who work alongside Joni Mitchell, who tour Europe, Thailand, China (freakin’ China!). Meanwhile, I struggle to fill a 50-seat basement theatre with dirt-cheap admission. Out of my league? Just a titch.
Nevertheless, I somehow found myself hobnobbing with these paragons of artistic achievement and, once I shook the celebrity dazzle, it turned out they were pretty darn cool. They order post-show pizza. They talk politics and complain about rent. They get drunk and sing showtunes from The Little Mermaid. They’re normal.
And abruptly, as my bubble’s soapy walls shuddered and grew to accommodate these new horizons, I was reminded of the unexplored bathtub beyond.
Although I consider myself fairly well-connected, those connections are mostly limited to a very specific group: artists. I hardly know any engineers, teachers, plumbers, social workers. I live in Calgary, but I rarely meet anyone who works for an oil company or who votes Conservative. And while life in a vacuum-wrapped community is comfortable and familiar, it does nothing to help me diversify a board of directors, fix a leaky tap, understand (or, better yet, change) the dominating philosophies of my society.
So, suddenly isolated in a vast sea of uncharted social bubbles, I was faced with the mammoth task of uniting them all into some kind of paradisiacal blob of communion and exchange. As I sat back, tides of possibility tugging at my brain, I was suddenly struck by a fail-safe solution.
A party. A series of parties! I would throw open my apartment doors for “We Should Know Each Other” parties, unite diverse communities on my second-hand sofa and watch a collaborative spirit erupt! Nothing could be simpler.
Simple in concept, that is. In execution?
Panic.
On the afternoon of the first party, I realize the magnitude of my folly. I had invited a group of strangers to my apartment and I expected them to... what? Mingle? No icebreakers. No nametags. Just a bowl of nachos, a bowl of salsa and the desperate hope that, when combined, their spicy-salty goodness would tear down the social barriers of hesitation, awkwardness and doubt.
I quickly rushed out to buy some crackers and jalapeño cheddar, then panicked further with visions of my carefully prepared RSVP list dissolving into a puddle of last-minute cancellations. Then the doorbell rang.
The party... worked. People mingled. There were no pretenses, no questioned intentions, no awkward pauses. Everyone was there to meet new people and, hot darn, that’s what they did.
That first party had a nice mix: a couple visual artists, a couple poets, a publicist and, of course, a ballet dancer. And, OK, these are all people that fit pretty comfortably within my “arts bubble.” There were no fiery political debates with Mayor Dave Bronconnier, no academic reminiscences with Harvey Weingarten, no contemplations with a Buddhist monk. But it was a start.
As my guests left the first party, I asked them to invite a friend to the next one, ideally someone I don’t know. And as the parties continue, the social circles will continue to diversify, bringing more and more people together. It’s a small-scale operation, but with big potential. With over a million people in Calgary, I’m at no risk of running out of strangers. Bank cashiers, police officers, architects, servers.
Or you, the diligent reader who’s trekked to the end of this column. Chances are, we don’t know each other. But check me out at the top of the page. Now you know what I look like, so if you see me on the street, at the pub, at a show, say “Hi!” Nudge your bubble up against mine, because who knows—maybe they’ll stick. U