Case 3 for What Kills Our Conversations—and How to Bring Them to Life?

Meeting Fr. Kevin for breakfast and having an insightful conversation

Case 3. More Conversations on Flight

"If you don’t like what you see today — masked bullies, a frightened public, self-serving elites, and an increasingly explicit K-shaped society — we should strive, more urgently than ever, to connect face-to-face. Real people are flesh and blood, while those portrayed on the screen are abstractions, icy-cold, with facades — figuratively and literally."

A plethora of articles, even books, offer guidance on seeking and enhancing happiness, prompting more people than ever to reflect on this modern, often elusive concept: what it means and where to find it. As I write this, an article headline catches my eye: “The Art of Finding Joy in Everyday Life.” I can’t help but read it with interest, resonating with the sentiment: “How do you incorporate small, delightful moments into your daily routine?” However, I’d like to put a different spin on the topic:

“The Art of Letting Joyful Moments Find You.”

Perhaps we should stop fixating on the vague, indefinable concept of happiness and instead let moments of “feeling and doing good” come naturally. These moments often arise when we step into the world with open eyes and an inquisitive heart, catching us by surprise when we are least expecting them and most attentive.

Psychologists often emphasize that conversations with strangers can be pivotal moments of social connection. These interactions can offer unexpected emotional thrills and even enlightenment by seeing the world through others' eyes.

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Here is another memorable experience that illustrates this idea, showing what happened and how it made me feel rather than merely staying with the theory.

The flight from Shanghai to Chicago lasts fourteen hours: those long hours make it the perfect time to hear the most intimate personal stories from strangers from anywhere in the world.

This is HOW most unexpected and sparkling conversations are struck up between strangers

A man in his late forties once sat beside me, eager to strike up a conversation. Knowing I had lived in the U.S. for decades, he introduced himself as a policeman in Shanghai, where he had served for 20 years. Our conversation was exceptionally engaging because our overlapping yet distinct backgrounds offered two crucial elements of human interaction: shared familiarity as instant common ground and individual novelty as stimulation.

His daughter attended Johns Hopkins University as an undergraduate; this was his fifth visit to see her over the years. “She is our only child,” he told me. “She wants me and her mother to come to the U.S. after our retirement, but I will put my foot down to persuade my daughter to return to China after her graduation. Yes, I love big American houses surrounded by a pristine lawn and a deep-blue sky, but what am I going to do if I can’t understand a single English word?” He expressed – and griped – about his family’s stigma, with no intention of seeking my advice.

“What is your impression of American society?” I asked him a different question without addressing his hypothetical concern. Knowing that too many Chinese families share a similar sense of ambivalence about this family situation – being proud of having a child earning a prestigious American degree but creating an ocean of distance between the child and the parents – I wasn’t surprised by how he felt, and I knew I couldn’t help him anyway.

After a pause, he said, "In Shanghai, no policeman carries a gun during their regular duties. By comparison, they have armed all the policemen in New York to the teeth."

A professional observation, indeed! He was right about it, but I had never noticed it, even though I traveled to Shanghai every year. How blind our eyes can be!

"How about the American people you have met?" I followed my train of thought with more questions.

"The people I know through my daughter seem friendly yet very stingy," he said after a brief pause. "Every time we go out to eat, if I invite them, I normally order at least six to eight dishes (the Chinese dining style, of course). But when they invite me, it is usually one plate per person, with one piece of steak, cornbread or something, and a few minor things on the side." The policeman sounded a little bewildered and irritated. “Is that all they eat, even for a special occasion?”

"Chicken pasta or sandwich?" A flight attendant interrupted our conversation to serve lunch.

"What did she just say?" The policeman asked me to translate it into Chinese.

When I mentioned the two meal options to him, he frowned. I could tell that, in his mind, anything other than authentic Chinese cuisine was inferior and represented a significant cultural barrier. This Shanghai policeman sitting next to me, who may reflect the views of many first-generation immigrants to the U.S., seemed completely unfamiliar with — and reluctant to assimilate into — the American steak-loving culture that values meat quality, different cuts, expert preparation, and sensory presentation, let alone the subtle distinctions between Ribeye, Filet Mignon, and New York Strip — the acquired taste I have come to appreciate greatly over the years.

Chinese braised pork delivers sweet, sticky, and savory-salty flavors with a tender, fall-apart texture, and a medium‑rare cut with a caramelized crust and an herb garnish, served with potatoes and asparagus.

Looking at the two choices above, which one’s calling your name?

How about one that does not — and should not — exclude the other?

One simple phenomenon that can empirically distinguish people on one side of the ocean from those on the other is gastronomic culture. However, it can be superficial and merely a matter of preference; yet our (mis-)perceptions of different cuisines can unconsciously reveal how receptive or judgmental we are toward other cultures.

Deep down, cultural obstacles reside in the mind, where no one can convince others to change if they themselves are not willing to open up to other experiences, for example, by conversing with people, hearing their stories, and pondering why they are who they are and act the way they do. This, I believe, is what meaningful conversations can do with anyone we meet—more than add joy to our lives, they help us see more of the world, better understand ourselves, overcome cultural barriers, and mitigate stereotypes—all at once.

If you don’t like what you see today— masked bullies, a frightened public, self-serving elites, and an increasingly explicit K-shaped society — we should strive, more urgently than ever, to connect face-to-face. Real people are flesh and blood, while those portrayed on the screen are abstractions, icy-cold, with facades — figuratively and literally.

One way will lift us up — our collective soul — while the other will bring us down. So, which way do you choose to spend your time — and how?