I’m always nervous before a Stranger Dinner. Who will show up? Who won’t? It has been a trial and error process to see what method of invitation/confirmation will turn up the most guests, and I think I’ve got it down because there are seven women seated at my table by 7:30. I have to scramble for chairs, so accustomed to a couple no shows that I always overbook, and can barely squeeze 8 people around the little table in my kitchen.

We are nervous and making small talk interspersed with small puddles of silence that threaten to suck us in. There is one bottle of wine and I pour it carefully into each glass, making sure we all get some. Wine is a key ingredient at a stranger dinner, not only because it gives us something to do at the very beginning of the meal, but because of the important role it plays in loosening our lips. But today I am broke, and the couple bottles I usually try to ply on people isn’t around to save us from nervous shyness. We are making it along but I see something deeper here.

I turn to the questions written in by the guests that I keep as conversation starters when words get a little hitch in their giddy-up. I invite these women to ask their questions, or a new one if they want.

We start with an exercise. One younger guest wants to explore our first impressions of each other. We are all too hesitant to say them out loud, so we write a different name on the top of 8 sheets of paper, folding the page up as we write our observations and pass them along.

This breaks the ice, and we continue thinking of questions, topics, experiences we want to talk about and opinions we have to share. We kill the wine. We eat food enthusiastically, exclaiming over all the delicious array of tastes we have managed to gather into one place. I can never stifle the amazement at the way dinner always seems to turn out balanced and delicious.

Three hours later, fully stuffed and connected, we write a different set of impressions, marking the end of the dinner. Each guest leaves one by one, trading recipes, hair stylists, getting rides, and saying goodbye. One guest is left.

“So is it really over? I can’t believe I’ll never see these women again, after how sharing such intimate things with each other. I feel so connected.”

“The possibility is always there.” I say. “Maybe you will see them again, but at least we had tonight.”

“Are all dinners like that?”

“Each in their own way.” I say. And as she leaves, I sit there, amazed myself that it could be true. These evenings with strangers are magical in a way that is new and surprising every time.

The laundry has been stacking up, but the dishes are finally done. I unclogged the sink and made some red clover infusion, but I need to clean, there are guests coming and there is much work to be done!

It can be so overwhelming. All the day to day activity that goes into keeping yourself dressed, fed and housed everyday. Oftentimes I wonder how people seem to do it all. Their blogs are religiously updated with beautiful layouts and pictures. Their houses are spotless and all seem to get beautiful natural light all day long. I find myself spending so much time just looking at neat and tidy spaces and carefully curated home collections, envious and feeling like my tiny, eclectic apartment with my mishmash of furniture and half finished art projects will never measure up.

My life is messy. Something is always left undone. Often, I will call for a break when I just can’t do anymore. I like to relax at the end of the day. I like to read. I like to cook and eat. Listen to music and do the dishes. Sometimes I feel like I’m lazy. Because it seems like the only way I ever get a to do list done is by forgetting about it and losing it. There’s no way to keep track of whether I’m being acceptably productive or not. And I never am.

I live in America, a place where you have to work hard and constantly if you want to be successful. But sometimes I want to stop striving. Sometimes I just want to live and enjoy and not constantly worry about covering my expenses, or being the best person I can be. But there seems to be no escape. Even my dreams stress me out, because I worry how will I ever become that cool, amazing, accomplished, beautiful person I want to be.

Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are even really a true reflection of what I would be happy doing, or good at. Will I still be unsatisfied when I finally have reached the goals I set out for myself?

Sometimes I get stuck. I can’t move forward, can’t go back, and I don’t know which way to turn. What am I doing? Where will it lead? What could I be doing better?

The questions never stop. And I am left to wonder what it is I’m supposed to be doing. Where I’m supposed to be. Who I will become.

Yeah, I dunno. What to do, what to do.

I think I have it.

I don’t know what it is, but there is something lighting a fire under my butt and making me feel like my old self again.

It has been super nice and warm for the past couple weeks, and it smells like spring outside. It’s that wet, flowery, earthy smell that comes across the breeze at twilight and drives me crazy. When I get a whiff of it, I’m immediately free, driving in a car, windows rolled down, no shoes, listening to some wicked tunes, with all my best friends. It seriously gets me high. I feel a euphoric rush and it makes me feel like a strong fierce lady. Powerful. Like I can do anything. Like life is amazing and wonderful and everything is happy. And pretty much, it is.

Maybe it’s the infusions. I found this amazing crazy hippie herbalist lady who makes these nourishing infusions from nettle, red clover, oatstraw, and comfrey. I started drinking them, mixing up the herbs in glass jars and steeping them overnight.

T and I stopped smoking cigs. Not like we were super heavy smokers, but every bit counts! It has been almost two weeks and not a puff. Feeling pretty happy about that. You hear a lot less sneezing and coughing out of both of us.. and I know we’re saving money!

We’ve started eating much better. More fresh vegetables, less white powders. It takes a little more time, but I enjoy the whole cooking and eating process a lot more. And I know I’m getting better nutrition out of it.

I don’t know why this all happened. It seemed to just happen naturally. Like a switch got flipped in my head and I am now ready to all the things I used to think were impossible. I feel so motivated to work towards something, to have goals and try to attain them, to better my circumstances and do things that I really love. To get our lives organized so we don’t have to worry so much.

It’s like suddenly, the window opened. Suddenly everything seems a little easier. Suddenly. Suddenly, I’m capable of more. And so I am actively requiring more from myself.

I’m ironing out my life.

I guess this is why spring brings so much renewal and growth and resolutions and cleaning and stuff. It must be instinct. Something in the air tells me, it’s time to get things started.

There is a lot to do, and it’s overwhelming, but I’m trying to make baby steps, keep my head down, focus on what’s right in front of me, and just let things happen.

So there. Blog update. More stranger dinners coming soon. Join the list.

Since I started having Stranger Dinners, they have turned into one of the most fun and easy activities to plan. They are always different, but I’ve never had one I didn’t enjoy. With a little forethought, having a stranger dinner can be a great way to meet some new people, gain some different perspectives, and get people to bring delicious food to your house for free.

Think about why you want to have a Stranger Dinner.

Imagine what you’d like to get out of this experience. What is your motivation for the dinner? What makes a night with strangers so appealing to you? Write down your intention for the dinner, and what you hope to experience. Include this in your invitation, and you will attract people who want the same thing, and who are open to letting this experience happen.

Invite Strangers.

Depending on your comfort level, there are different ways to do this. For the first stranger dinners, I found strangers by giving invitations to friends and asking them to invite people they knew. If you go this route, make sure you leave plenty of time for invitation delivery and for people to RSVP. This is probably the safest way to organize a stranger dinner, since your friends will have vouched for each guest that attends. If you want to start a dinner series, you can ask the guests to invite the next round of strangers. In this way, the dinner becomes a kind of chain letter.

Another way to invite people is through the internet. Though I wouldn’t necessarily post Stranger Dinner invitations on Craigslist, I do send the invitation to a mailing list or two that I trust, as well as to my own personal contacts. It’s easy to find niche mailing lists that speaks to a community you may be comfortable inviting without getting that icky Stranger Danger feeling in your stomach. Having said that, posting it on a site like craigslist might turn up great people, and you may have no problem at all. Follow your gut. Diverse sources of strangers help the dinners stay strange.

Stranger Dinners are best planned on a Sunday or a weeknight. Fridays and Saturdays, people have lots of options and plans that come up last minute. Planning on the right day minimizes being stood up by flaky strangers.

Send a Reminder.

People have a lot of stuff going on. It’s easy to forget something you signed up for, especially if it was more than a week ago. A couple days before the dinner, send your guests a reminder email. Restate the time, day, intentions, and location of the dinner, as well as any special instructions. I ask my guests for a question they would like to ask a stranger. These questions serve as confirmation that they have read the email and are still planning to come to the dinner, and work as great conversation starters to get people talking at the actual dinner.

The Day of the Dinner.

It’s fun to get excited about the Stranger Dinner. Get your space ready for guests. Make it cozy. Make it easy for people to come in, put down their stuff, and relax. Candles, flowers, tablecloth, music–whatever mood you want to set, ambiance is the key!

Make something yummy.

I don’t like to tell people what to bring for the potluck. I like to be surprised, and I’ve never been disappointed with the meal. However, I do make sure I have some wine or beer on hand. Alcohol, though not necessary, definitely works as a social lubricant and gets people relaxed and talking. There is no need to spend all day slaving over a hot stove. Depending on my mood, my budget, and my schedule, I make sure my potluck item is stress free and delicious. Stranger Dinners, unlike other dinner parties, are great places to try out new recipes. If it turns out bad, there will be plenty of other things to eat, and you never have to see these people again!

Enjoy!

Now all that’s left is to sit back, relax, and let a bunch of people bring you food and entertain you for the evening. You’re in for a treat! Don’t forget to be a courteous host. Make sure everyone feels safe, comfortable, and is never without something to drink. Help people do their final preparations for their dish if they need it, help them serve it up, and don’t be afraid to use some ice breakers if things aren’t flowing naturally. People are there to hang out, and after a while you’ll be talking like old friends.

When it’s time to leave, thank everyone for coming. Make sure they get any dishes or leftovers they brought to take home, and if they would like to exchange contact information, send a group email to everyone so they can stay in touch!

I don’t know why I started the Stranger Dinners. Maybe it was out of loneliness. I was living in a new town with my two best friends. I had just graduated college, an environment where hundreds of familiar and interesting faces greeted me as soon as I walked out my door. I had been so excited to finally be free of the isolated bubble of school. I thought it was holding me back, with its assignments and requirements and obligatory hoops to jump through. I was ready to be set free so I could finally do what I wanted: make art.

I often likened concentrating in sculpture to majoring in possibilities. As I learned more and more about contemporary art practice and theory, my definition of what art was and what it could be expanded until there were no limits. A sculpture could be anything from an idea to an action, a crafted situation, a social experiment, a conspiracy, a business venture, an anecdote told at a party. I spent my last semester trying to walk on the edge of what art could be. I planned field trips, elaborate parties, chance meetings, experiential devices, and rumors. I was a little misunderstood, but I was very happy, and I was excited for the day that I would graduate and have the freedom to do even more.

It soon hit me that school hadn’t prepared me for the reality that lay beyond. In the real world, people didn’t have time to make art. Work that actually earned money took over life. I longed for the creative collaboration between people who had time to philosophize, to create, to experiment, to discuss, to learn and to teach. In school, I had been isolated, but at least I was with hundreds of fellow students and faculty. In the real world, I felt, everyone lives in their own little world, working to pay their rent and provide for themselves.

Working part time in a frame shop, and spending my free time working on projects alone at my house, I felt a very basic, almost laughable question begin to surface.

What is everyone doing?

I felt like I missed something. Is this it? You have a few friends, you wake up, go to work, pay rent, and get some fun in when you can? I would make a painting and look at it, thinking “what is this for?” I wondered how people were spending their time. How were people figuring out how to balance their obligations with their pleasures? How did they make decisions? How do we all decide what is right for us–what to sacrifice and what to invest? What city to live in? What jobs to apply for? What to do with our lives?

“What I want to know is where all the people are, and where they go / and what I wouldn’t give to know where everybody gets together, where it is that they really live” — “The Sky Opens Wide like the Tide” by The Blow

I asked everyone I came across what their life was like. Did they like what they were doing? How did they do it? Why did they like it? How did they get to that point? What did they do before? What were the obstacles? What were the perks? What were the downfalls?

I felt like I was lost in this big labyrinth and the whole world was at a party in the center of it.

Slowly it dawned on me: no one had the answer. There was no right path. Everyone stumbles their way through. Some people get lucky breaks, some people have lower expectations, some people are unhappy, some people are happy. It is always changing and evolving. Everyone just works with what they have, and from their own perspective.

So what if we all started collaborating? What if we shared our perspectives? Not just with our family and friends, but with everyone? I wanted to know what a real life was like, and movies weren’t really helping.

The internet has been a huge tool for doing just this. We can share the most intimate details of our lives with strangers, from vacations pictures to opinions, to skin infections and the latest fashions. People type out their greatest fears, aspirations, confessions, and successes for the vast unknown sea of people to read and comment on. This gives access to a seemingly infinite amount of information without having to even get out of bed.

But there’s something so isolating about the internet. This screen we use as a portal to connect ourselves to each other creates an invisible barrier between ourselves an others. The voyeuristic nature of Facebook allows us to keep up with our acquaintances and friends without them even knowing, and without the exchange that let’s them know we care, and without actually having any kind of relationship with these people.

I just clicked over to someone’s twitter page. I don’t know this girl, but I’ve been following her life for almost a year. The background on her twitter page says, “I thought I was a narcissist. That is, until I met the rest of the internet.” It’s true, we are all broadcasting the stories of our lives (some more than others). We are posturing as ourselves in order to make superficial connections with as many people as possible. Social capital is suffering from inflation. It’s not enough to have 50 people in real life you really care about, you have to have 500 facebook friends too. What? You don’t have 1,000 followers on twitter? You might as well be shouting into the void, because no one hears what you say.

Communication has been one sided too long. We are starting to learn how to make all this technology work for us. It’s starting to occur to people that these amazing networks we are building can help us improve the communities where we actually exist. With the internet, I can now find all the garage sales in my neighborhood, order takeout, find a date, join a pillow fight, and locate my favorite food cart when I get that special craving.

In response to all these ideas and questions, I started inviting strangers to my house for a potluck. With the Stranger Dinners, I seek to bridge the gap between personal and impersonal, between the mass communication and face to face interaction. I want to bring what is good about the internet and relocate it from the ephemeral everywhere and nowhere plane and bring it closer. I want to create the opportunity for people to find something they might not think to look for. I want to take the idea of StumbleUpon and bring it to the dinner table. Let us cultivate an open flow of information without the anonymity. That way, the value placed on the information or opportunities we come across are tied to real people who live in our physical communities. I want the humanity back. Instead of going to the library and researching on the internet, I want to stroll through the stacks, smell the pages of old books, pick a random book off the shelf, and let some serendipity into my life.

Most of all, I want to keep myself open to the physical world around me, and all the people who live there. I want us to act as though we have the world in common. If we’re all in this together, we’ll have all the support we need to get us through. Through my art practice, I seek to create situations outside of our everyday expectations of the world. I strive to actively create what I find lacking from my everyday experience. And I want to explore the possibilities that can come from encouraging people to talk to each other without reason, motivation, agenda, self-selection, or presumption. They’re no telling what we will find if we look just outside of our everyday experience.

“The Stranger Dinners” is a series of chance events. Twice a month, six strangers will come together to create a collaborative meal (potluck), producing the potential for serendipitous meetings and unexpected happenings. The series will start with an invitation sent to my own list of contacts, who are encouraged to spread the invitation through word of mouth, creating a FOAF (Friend of a Friend) network. Anyone in this network can RSVP to one of these dinners, with a maximum of 5 new guests per dinner. This event engages individuals in a unique situation of spending one night at an intimate gathering with people they may have never met, and may never see again.

Guests will each bring something of their choosing to share for dinner. They are also encouraged to bring any other items they would like to use as entertainment, conversation starters, favors, or show and tells.

This project explores the idea of individual expression and temporal intimacy, and allows guests to explore the freedom of interacting with new people outside of expectation, commitment, prior knowledge, or self segregation. The intention of this project is to create new opportunities and possibilities by changing the way people view, respond, and interact with strangers.

To sign up for The Stranger Dinner email list, visit: http://strangerdinner.eventbrite.com/

____________________

Dear Stranger,

I think we need to talk.

My mom always told me never to talk to you, even if you offered me candy. The news tells me not to trust you–that you will kidnap, rape, rob, or kill me given half the chance.

But I never believed those lies. I know you’re just like me, trying to make your world turn as best as you can. I know you have dreams, ideas, and favorite recipes just like me. You might even have some insight to share that will make my life better. Maybe you know my future partner. Maybe you know the solution to something I’ve been trying to figure out for a long while.

Sometimes I run into you at parties, bars and parks. All over, really. I know we just never get a chance to really sit down together. Get intimate. You just always look so busy, and I don’t want to intrude. You might think I’m crazy, or hitting on you or something. But I’m not.

Because the thing is, you’re really easy to talk to. I can really be myself around you. I can tell you anything… things even my closest friends don’t know. I can be really honest.

Technology is changing so fast now. There are so many new ways we can communicate. We can trade books, furniture, stories, sexual partners, and ideologies. But it still feels so impersonal. I find myself staring at my computer, isolated, as you walk by my window.

I’m tired of the silent treatment. I hate pretending to ignore you, not knowing when and if to smile when you pass. I don’t want to feel afraid when I hear your footsteps behind me at night.

Well, it’s time for a change. Come over for dinner. Let’s sit down, eat, and finally have a chance to really talk. I think this will be a great opportunity for us. In fact, it might save the world, or at least help us work better together. Next week let’s do it at your house.

All my love,

Ari

My friend F came over last night, totally bummed. His boyfriend was in a funk. He had recently lost his job, and with summer coming to an end, he found himself without friends, without anything to do, binging out on television and feeling sorry for himself.

Since the fall of the economy, this scenario has gotten more and more prevalent. People become unemployed and have a hard time getting a job, which leads to feelings of helplessness and worthlessness. Without any money, it’s hard to go out, and many find themselves unmotivated, watching bad reality TV shows which just make them feel more resentful of their directionless, broke-ass lives.

Being in this cycle of helpless self-pity really sucks. It begins to make you angry with the world. Why do I have to live like this? Why do we cultivate a society that focuses so much on money? Why does it seem like we have to kill ourselves trying to get a job just so we can spend 60 hours a week doing something for someone else?

It got me thinking about the world I wanted to live in. Usually my utopian visions land me in a big meadow in the country near great swimming holes. It would always be summer, and I’d live in a giant house with a very large kitchen, a very large garden, and tons of friends living with me, as neighbors, and constantly passing through. I would spend my days gardening and planning activities like skillshares, storytelling nights, potlucks, band practice, dances, etc.

I don’t have room for work in my utopia, nor do I have room for money. I have plenty of room for community, creativity, sharing, collaboration, and mutual aid.

Now that I’m done being depressed that the utopia I have imagined for myself isn’t showing up on it’s own, and I’ve watched all the Rachel Zoe I can handle, I’ve been trying to think of ways to move my current reality closer to my imagined one.

Here are a couple strategies I have in mind:

1. Cultivate a community that helps each other get what we need without money.

Plan skillshares so we can educate each other. Start bartering. Sign up for those collaborative consumption websites like Neighborgoods. Trade books instead of buying them with BookMooch.

2. Entertain Yourself.

There’s no need to pay a $15 cover and spend $8 on a cocktail. Plan potlucks. Share food. Invite your musician friends over to play for you and your neighbors. Have a tea party in the park and invite everyone to come. Organize recurring events. Some days you might have more than someone else. Share, and let them help you out when you’re low. Some of the best times in my life have been at home with my favorite people around me.

3. Share information.

I read a lot, but I get tons of my information from other people. Whether it’s sharing an article online, forwarding a groupon email to someone you know would like it, or just sitting around and talking about stuff, talking with people face to face is a great way to cultivate relationships, come up with new ideas, get feedback, and inspire each other. If your bored, get a few other bored people together and see what you come up with.

Remember: Even though you’re being a revolutionary with these kinds of activities, you don’t need to tattoo “Anarchy” on your bicep or become vegan or stop shaving your armpits. Keep it intimate, keep it your own, and keep it casual. This is a way of living, not a way to join a subculture. This of these activities as a way of meeting people, improving in your quality of life, and living life the way you want.

Today I am full of awesome excitement! I have just sent out invitations to a new series of “The Stranger Dinners,” a project I started up in Seattle and am excited to continue in San Francisco!

In Seattle, I started by giving five of my friends paper invitations to give to someone they knew. This time, I’m expanding the pool a little by sending out invitations to people I know as well as anyone who subscribes to the email list.
“The Stranger Dinners” is a series of chance events. Twice a month, six strangers will come together to create a collaborative meal (potluck), producing the potential for serendipitous meetings and unexpected happenings. The series will start with an invitation sent to my own list of contacts, who are encouraged to spread the invitation through word of mouth, creating a FOAF (Friend of a Friend) network. Anyone in this network can RSVP to one of these dinners, with a maximum of 5 new guests per dinner. This event engages individuals in a unique situation of spending one night at an intimate gathering with people they may have never met, and may never see again.

This project explores the idea of individual expression and temporal intimacy, and allows guests to explore the freedom of interacting with new people outside of expectation, commitment, prior knowledge, or self segregation.

In addition to bringing something to share, guests are also encouraged to bring any other items they would like to use as entertainment, conversation starters, favors, or show and tells.

Feel free to send this to friends you think would like this! Also, if you want to hear about upcoming Stranger Dinner Dates, sign up on the form below!

My horoscope said it’s time to switch it up a little… change my look, evolve in my ways, start a different stage of life. I’ve been feeling it too. I’ve only been in my new place a month, but I can feel the past two years fading into the background.

Just a few months ago I couldn’t figure out why life was such a precious thing. I couldn’t figure out, logically, why people would want to continue living when life is so hard, and I’m one of the most privileged people on the planet. What is it that makes people get up to face another day every morning?

I just wanted to sleep. In my dreams I could travel to foreign lands and have weird interactions with new people and get myself into interesting situations. I was relieved when the day came to a close, and I could finally stop trying to do anything and hide in my bed, escaping into bad reality tv or movies.

Any contact with the outside world was scary. I couldn’t answer my phone. I couldn’t leave my room, for fear that someone would try to talk to me. I felt anxious and like a failure all the time, and kept thinking that any human interaction would get me into trouble. I thought everyone would hate me or be angry with me. I analyzed myself constantly and despaired at the years of torturous failing at life that lay ahead of me. I was 25, and I had already peaked. It was all downhill from here, and not in a good way.

Now, thinking back, I can still feel the heavy weight that sank me into depression. It’s so close to my heart, but at the same time it feels so long ago, so far away from this moment.

Now I’m in depression hangover. There are finally things I’m super excited about doing, but I still feel trepidatious. I’m still a little nervous that everything will fall apart and I’ll slide backward into the abyss.

But every day I’m changing, trying to distance myself from that recent path that led to tears. I put a wrap in my hair, sell some old stuff, make some plans, buy a new dress. I try to be nicer to my partner, who had stood by me through some awful moments. I drink more coffee. I get out of the house, take a walk, answer my phone even when I don’t really want to. I try to connect with the people I love, friends I haven’t talked to in ages.

It gets a little easier with every day, every dinner party, every new person I meet who doesn’t shun me the way I expected. This is what it means to be free.