I Needed a Reminder of the Power of Human Connection
Earlier this year I was planning a short trip out of town, and I needed a hotel room for just one night.
My hotel search led me down a rabbit hole, where I found myself looking at reviews and photos of a small, unbranded but not-quite-boutique hotel. It was a little less expensive than a chain hotel, but not so much as to make me concerned that there was something wrong with it. It was close to where I needed to be. The photos of the rooms showed a unique aesthetic — one that hadn’t been chosen by a global marketing department. Still, I knew exactly what I’d be getting with a Westin or a Hilton. I hesitated, leaving the browser window open for hours while I looked for other options. Finally, still a little anxious that this choice would turn out to be a bad one, I booked the hotel.
When the taxi pulled up in front of the door on Saturday, I saw that there was a tasteful brass nameplate. The door, which looked like the door of a brownstone, was locked. I pressed the bell, and a small man with a big smile opened the door. His name was Vincent.
Vincent ushered me into the front room — this had been converted from a brownstone, indeed. He showed me to the available rooms, explaining that, while I could have the one I had chosen online, it was right next to their laundry room, and maybe I would prefer one on the top floor at the back of the building. We walked up, and he showed me into a room that was clean and well decorated. It felt like being in the thoughtfully-appointed guest room at a good friend’s house.
Vincent showed me the quirks of the room, then left me to get settled. I had explained to him that I was in town for less than a day, for a reunion with some college friends I hadn’t seen in more than 20 years. He could see that I was nervous about the reunion, and he let me talk. When I came downstairs later to go out, he made sure that I knew where I was going, told me I looked terrific, and said he’d see me when I got back.
I had a wonderful time with my friends, and when I got back to the brownstone, Vincent did indeed pop out of the back to ask how my evening had been. I said it was great, and that I would be leaving early the next morning. When I came down quietly at 6:45am, Vincent was there, bidding me safe travels.
Years ago I traveled alone through Europe for a summer. I had no plan; I would travel to a new country or town and find a place to stay for the night when I got there. I got recommendations from fellow travelers on trains and ferries. I made friends and followed them where they were going, and I chatted with locals at coffee shops and let them lead me to a favorite inn. I made a decision to trust other people, to look for connection, to be willing to walk into the unexpected. Connecting with Vincent brought me back to that trip.
My short conversations with Vincent colored and enhanced my whole weekend. He was a person with me, not a cog in the wheel of the hospitality machine. He let me be a little vulnerable; he made my visit feel personal and deep.
There are so many opportunities for this kind of connection in our lives, and we are automating ourselves away from them. For the sake of efficiency, we shop online, schedule online, communicate online. I don’t pretend to be immune to or above this development — I love scheduling a haircut without having to call the salon, and Amazon Prime makes regular visits to my house. But I know that the world is full of wonderful, interesting people. I would hate to miss out on meeting them because it’s more convenient to stay home.
Vincent’s hospitality was genuine and lovely, and I felt different as a result of my time with him. I felt braver, kinder, lighter. I think of Vincent as I move through the world, now. I look for opportunities to be real, to connect, to be a person. I’m grateful.
