A few months ago, a friend gave me Esther Perel’s party game, Where Should We Begin? It’s basically a bunch of cards with questions that when answered, evoke personal stories. The questions go from, “I need to let go of …” to “a time I admitted I was wrong,” to “living with me is hard because …” I know from my writing workshop that this kind of sharing can be life-transforming, so I was really interested in the game.
The whole idea is for folks to get to know one another on a deeper level and create an intimacy that doesn’t come with the usual small talk. (ie: how ’bout them Mets?). I knew Esther Perel’s name, and that she was a famous psychiatrist.
We actually were at a dinner party where the host had used the game, and successfully enlivened the evening by going around the table and one by one all of us listening and sharing our answers to a few of these provocative queries.
On the way home, my husband said, “I didn’t like that around-the-table thing.” I said, “Why?” He said, “Because you’re sitting there trying to think of what to say. It’s kind of anxiety-producing.” My husband is the least anxious person I know. But he is very selective as to who he lets in. So I got it.
We were silent in the car for a while, and then I said, “I loved it.” And then I thought, Well, of course I loved it. I’m an extrovert (with no boundaries), and can’t wait to tell everybody everything. And of course he didn’t like it, because he’s a classic introvert. Plus he’s not self-indulgent, doesn’t need the attention, isn’t ready with a story as soon as a topic gets introduced. (Could be why the marriage works, although that’s a whole other conversation.)
The next day I decided to open the box. And we started reading the cards. We chose the one that said, “Name a smell that reminds you of a memory.”
Joel, after taking some time, said, “I loved the smell of gasoline, and I loved it when I had to fill the lawnmower,” which led me to ask, “Did your brothers also mow, and did your parents pay you, and did you get thanked and praise for mowing?” To which he answered, “No and no and no.”
My smell was the cleaning fluid they used at the hotel where I worked when I was 15, right after my father died, and I had fallen in love with a college boy who fell in love with … well, not me. The memory was a heartbreak.
That night we went out to dinner with our kids. We told them about the game, and asked them if they had a response to any particular smell. My daughter-in-law, who had a great relationship with her father, fondly remembers the smell of cut grass and being with her dad. My son said he remembers as a young boy watching his father, my husband, shave and then put on Old Spice, and the smell still brings back a sweet feeling.
Later that night my husband and I agreed we’d never play that game at a gathering at our house. There might be some who would feel uncomfortable the way Joel said he felt.
The next day my husband said, “I’ve been thinking. If this game could be called Climate Emergency, and the cards could be like, ‘What do you think when you’re at the gas pump, or what do you think of nuclear?’ Or, ‘Is it worth mining the cobalt, the lithium, the copper, the gold, the manganese for your iPhone?’”
I said if we were younger (and had the energy … haha, energy) you could actually make this happen. People would get educated about your favorite topic, and we could make a bunch of money when the game went viral, and you could be on “Shark Tank” and “60 Minutes” and “The View.” We laughed and packed up the rest of the cards.
The next day, Joel said sheepishly, “I think my game is too narrow, too targeted. I mean, after the first few questions, there wouldn’t be enough cards to make a deck. And besides, people would feel too guilty getting into their Rivians, and drive away thinking, ‘Boy, that Joel can really ruin a good evening.’”
I said, “What else is new?” (He’s been making people feel guilty about how much carbon dioxide their airplane trips to exotic places are costing the planet, and then I have to give him a look so we might get invited back.)
I said, “What if we named the game something more inclusive, like General Stewardship of the Earth?” “Still too targeted,” he said. “We’d sell about five sets.”
So if we ever meet Esther, first I’ll tell her I love Where Do We Begin? And then tell her if she wants a sequel, my husband would be happy to provide her with the questions.