Sharing high tea in low times

When you invited me to high tea at your favorite Indian restaurant, I really wanted to say no. I had spent that week wallowing in the news cycle from the comfort of my couch, and I wanted nothing more than to encounter real people.

What made me say yes is that I sensed this was one of your leadings, a stirring that rises up even out of the trenches of complacency and comfort. A leading has no root in scheming nor striving, and is untethered from a particularity of outcome. Leadings often take a person where they did not plan to go.

The walls in the Indian restaurant were painted saffron, a stark but warm welcome from blustery winds of January. When I realized that the tables in the space were all cozied up side by side, my heart sank. The host in a strong German accent boisterously instructed me to sidle up next to people I wasn’t sure I liked. I had wanted to drink tea in my own bubble, wrapped in a private cocoon constructed from my own personal ideas and values and opinions. Nearby swirled what looked like fancy folk, with purses and coats that have names signaling something important. The atmosphere intensified when an assortment of young people with wild hair tumbled in the door. I looked around and saw all sizes and colors, and noticed my table appeared to span multiple decades and income brackets.

Soon teas were served, first an Indian black tea that tasted how it smelled, pungent and potent. Next, tiny multicolor potato patties that looked like detailed mosaics. Then, trays of spicy salads in tiny painted bowls topped with spikes of peppers. Teas continued- chai, ayurvedic cocktails, and at last the tall trays of signature Indian pastries.

Gradually I had been able to tune in to the chatter at the table, the first swirl of real conversation that surrounded me in days. The talk led to a common link, an obscure mason worker, Matt who had fixed someone’s fireplace, and befriended someone else among us. We mused over the allure of his generous storytelling, the tomato gifts from his vast backyard garden and the lament that he moved to a work on a farm school in Iowa.

Next the person sitting next to me talked about selling her Peruvian handicrafts at the first rollout of a German Christmas market in the North Loop. As it turned out another tablemate’s niece had bought hot chocolate from her booth. The German host who made me sit by these people approached and spoke of also being connected to this Christmas market, and our table of eight- none of us whom knew each other beforehand made plans to meet in a year.

Beside me the slight woman who had recoiled from my froggy voice following a relentless flu warmed up, and I found myself in a conversation about something called feng shui. When she told me that there is an energy that exists between objects that continually shifts it dawned on my that there was a logical reason for my obscure habit of incessantly rearranging the furniture in my house . Her partner nodded at my realization, and I learned he knew about Chinese medicine. I longed to ask him for a suggestion for my insatiable cough, but his attention turned to the owner of the Indian restaurant who approached our table. I eavesdropped, and intuited a lifelong friendship together as they talked about where they hoped to travel this winter. Along the way in the conversation, I learned a tip about disability resources from the quiet young couple at the end, and found myself thinking about the importance of phone hotlines for those in need.

As for me, I was not a talker, and relied on you, Anne, to bring energy enough for the both of us. But something happened in the cross fire of ordinary conversation in extraordinary times. Not once did we shift to the news cycle. Not once did I fret that we each may have had varying political leanings. I completely forgot to keep my head down and avoid a gaze. I began to laugh, to soften, to see into the eyes of strangers and believe again that there is something that tethers us beyond ideology or agenda.

My prayer goes out to those of you who worry about family members getting scooped up in forthcoming immigration raids. Prayers for those who may lose access to healthcare this year, and for those with gender differences who fear further alienation. For those of you who wonder if your voice or conscience will result in losing your job, I am deeply sorry.

I am not personally at risk of this. But neither am I separated. How will we all live side by side in this new world order? How to move beyond the culture of contempt and slowly relearn how to talk to each other? What will make us exchange these accounts of what we value, and in so doing, how will we honor the span of territory between our needs? God bless it, we may need to have high tea together in low times, and you and I may be side by side next.