By Hyon O'Brien
Friends who visit me know that I have a somewhat unusual ritual. Whenever I host a gathering, I prepare 20 or 30 questions in advance to ask my guests, write them down on small pieces of paper, then fold them up and put them in a basket.
After we finish eating and everybody has had their coffee or tea and dessert, we all sit around and draw the questions out of the basket, one by one, and answer them. When I first tried this on my friends in 2005, many of them were awkward or irritated. Now that I have done it for the past five years, most of them are more comfortable and even look forward to it.
Why do I ask questions? First, my desire to get to know people more than superficially, and second, my attempt to keep the group as a unit for at least part of the time we spend together. I have noticed that any gathering of more than four people usually splits into small groups for conversation, as a matter of convenience and practicality. When this happens, even if you were at the same party with other people, you have no idea what went on in their conversation.
Most people are trained to think that this is most normal. I am trying to prove there is an alternative way to make a gathering more cohesive and give each individual there in that particular gathering the feeling that there was something worthwhile they are taking home. Yes, it is a bit artificial to bring everyone's attention to group sharing, but so far most of the friends who were subjected to this experiment (or torture for some) have expressed positive feedback (or maybe they're just being polite).
What kind of questions do I ask? Many varied ones: How do you define happiness? Who in your life impacted you the most to make you become who you are now? Which book influenced you the most? What is your favorite musical piece? Have you been ever comforted by someone, or have you ever comforted someone in a special way? If you could have a meal with anyone from the past, who would you like to invite, and why? If you could have a dinner party anywhere in the world, where would you pick? If you had your life to live over, would you still marry your spouse? What are the most regrettable things you have done so far? What is the most unforgettable gift you have ever received?
Through these questions, I found out many new things about my friends. For a lot of people, happiness means having a tender loving family. Many mention teachers, mothers and fathers whose influence has shaped them. One friend mentioned a biography of St. Thomas More (1478-1535) as being the most powerful book he's ever read: he explained that before reading that book it had never occurred to him that one could gladly die for one's convictions.
One of our oldest friends shared with us that his favorite musical piece is an aria from the opera La Traviata. And right then and there, using his cellular phone's MP3, he played that piece for us to listen to.
Two widowed friends shared with us what it has been like to receive comfort from others since the loss of their husbands. They in turn have become great comforters demonstrating compassion to other women in similar situations.
We laughed together and became somber at the same time for the guests we'd like to invite for lunch: Marilyn Monroe (to see whether she is really sexy), Julius Caesar (to talk to him in Latin), Mark Twain (to hear his humor), Apostle Paul (to hear his teaching), Jesus (just to meet Him) and many dead grandparents and parents (whom we miss them).
Dinner places? Next to the Pyramids, on the Greek island of Santorini, at an exquisite restaurant in Tuscany, Italy, and even (not so hard) my place.
A surprising number of my friends answered that they'd probably not marry their current husbands if they had to do it over again.
The most regrettable thing for one person happened in the '60s at Bear Mountain, N.Y. He was working a summer job at a hot dog stand for the state park concession area. One day at closing time, and with the grill cleaned, a black man came in and asked for a hotdog for his young son. Somewhat annoyed that this order would delay closing up the hot dog stand, in his hurry my friend dropped the cooked hot dog onto the floor. He quickly cleaned that off and stuffed the hot dog bun and gave it to the waiting man, who had been watching. No one said anything. My friend did not apologize. That man did not complain. He took the hot dog quietly and walked away with his son. My friend who was telling us this story has been bothered by this incident: Was I careless and reluctant to take the extra time to prepare another hot dog because he was black? Did that young man not voice his disapproval and just accept it because I was white? My friend wished he could go back to that scene and do the whole thing again properly.
My respect and affection for this friend deepened after he related the story. I was glad I asked that particular question. I gained so much insight into his character through his answer.
The American astronomer and author Carl Sagan (1934-1996) reminds us that we make our world significant by the courage of our questions and by the depth of our answers. Yes, I do want to live my life in a significant manner as I encounter each person and keep asking questions. I should also keep asking many questions to myself.
Hyon O'Brien, a former reference librarian in the United States, has returned to Korea after 32 years of living abroad. She can be reached at hyonobrien@gmail.com.