The Prank Email that Turned Into Something More

What the Hell Is This?

Monday morning, I received one of those emails that makes you sip your coffee in a long, slow slurp.

“What the hell is this? Cancel this. I did not order this.”

Well, good morning to you, too. 😊

The email was in response to a receipt he'd received for two free items from the GoNaked catalog. Nothing had actually been charged to him, but clearly he had no idea who we were, why he was hearing from us, or how he'd gotten onto the list in the first place.

So I looked him up.

He had never purchased anything from us. In fact, his account was brand new. It had been created maybe an hour before he'd written to me.

Something obviously wasn't right.

I wrote back and told him it was no problem at all. I explained briefly who we are and what I do, assured him that he hadn't been charged anything, and told him I'd be more than happy to remove him.

And that should have been the end of the story.

Except it wasn't.

He wrote back and explained that his ex-wife had been fucking around with him and signing him up for all kinds of shit.

Now I was curious.

I told him again that taking him off the list was absolutely no problem, but then I asked him something along the lines of, “Was she fucking with you, or did she somehow think this was something you'd actually need, want, or enjoy?”

He never really answered that question.

Instead, he started telling me about himself.

And somewhere between “What the hell is this?” and “Please remove me from your list,” two complete strangers started talking.

Sometimes People Just Need a Place to Land

Over the next few messages, he told me pieces of his life.

He's a recovering addict. He grew up in an abusive household where he was repeatedly told that he'd never amount to anything. Then he met the woman who would become his wife, and for perhaps the first time in his life, someone told him something different.

She believed in him.

She pointed out the things he was doing right. She helped him see qualities in himself that other people apparently hadn't bothered to notice. Imagine what that must feel like when you've spent much of your life being told you're worthless.

And then that relationship fell apart.

From his perspective, the person who had once helped build him up became another person capable of hurting him, fucking with him and eventually leaving.

That's his side of the story.

I don't know hers.

And frankly, I don't need to.

I'm not a marriage counselor. I'm not a judge. I wasn't sitting at their kitchen table. I don't know what happened behind closed doors or what either of them did to contribute to the end of their marriage.

There are at least two versions of every relationship, and usually quite a few more.

But I wasn't being asked to decide who was right.

I was simply talking to a guy who sounded like he needed somebody to listen.

That I can do.

Getting Naked With a Stranger

We've been writing back and forth ever since.

Nothing monumental. Maybe an email or two a day.

Little pieces of our lives.

A confession here. A story there. Something that happened years ago. Something that happened yesterday. The kinds of things we sometimes tell strangers because, strangely enough, there can be tremendous freedom in talking to somebody who doesn't already have a version of you stored in his head.

He doesn't know who I was supposed to become.

I don't know who he was supposed to become.

Neither of us knows the other's reputation, history, family dynamics or greatest failures.

We're simply learning about another human being from scratch.

And I've realized that there's something rather beautiful about that.

We talk a lot around here about getting naked.

Usually, yes, that involves taking your pants off.

I'm a big supporter.

But the philosophy behind GoNaked has never really been about how much skin you can show. If you've been around here for any length of time, you know that.

It's about how much of yourself you're willing to show.

Can you put down the performance for a minute?

Can you admit that you're lonely?

Can you tell somebody that you fucked up?

Can you talk about the person who broke your heart without pretending you've completely gotten over it?

Can you say you're scared?

Can you tell somebody that despite everything you've accomplished, there's still a little voice somewhere inside you repeating something cruel that somebody said to you 40 years ago?

That's nakedness, too.

Maybe the more important kind.

The People Who Arrive by Accident

I've always been fascinated by the way people enter our lives.

Some arrive with great fanfare. We choose them. We date them. We marry them. We hire them. We join their group. We sit next to them on an airplane and deliberately strike up a conversation.

Others just sort of tumble through a side door.

This guy entered my life because somebody apparently signed him up for two free GoNaked products he didn't want.

I don't know whether you believe the universe deliberately puts people in your path. Some days I do. Other days I think we're simply surrounded by millions of random collisions and every once in a while we're smart enough to notice one.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

What matters is recognizing that occasionally the interruption is the interesting part.

The email you almost deleted.

The person you almost dismissed.

The conversation you didn't have to continue.

The stranger you could have written off as rude because his first words to you were, “What the hell is this?”

It's very easy to decide what somebody is from the first five seconds.

He's angry.

She's difficult.

He's weird.

She's needy.

He's an asshole.

Delete. Block. Move along.

Sometimes that's absolutely the right decision. Lord knows, not every stranger who wanders into your inbox needs to become your latest humanitarian project.

But every once in a while, it might be worth staying curious for another minute.

There could be a human being underneath all that noise.

We Don't Always Have to Fix Each Other

I think this is something men, in particular, could stand to practice more often.

Listening without immediately trying to solve.

We love solutions.

Tell me your problem and I'll tell you what you should do. I'll recommend a book, send you a podcast, give you the name of my therapist, explain where you went wrong and create a seven-point recovery plan before you've finished your coffee.

Sometimes that's useful.

Sometimes it's exhausting.

Sometimes another guy just needs someone to say, “Tell me more.”

Not because you have the answer.

Not because you're going to save him.

Not because you're volunteering to carry his problems for the rest of your life.

Just because for the next ten minutes, another human being doesn't have to carry everything alone.

There is tremendous kindness in simply witnessing somebody.

Maybe We're Friends. Maybe We're Not.

I have no idea where this little correspondence is going.

He and I probably aren't going to become lifelong friends. I doubt we'll be sitting on a porch together twenty years from now reminiscing about the hilarious day his ex-wife accidentally introduced him to a gay nudist magazine publisher.

Although, stranger things have happened.

Maybe we'll write back and forth for another week.

Maybe a month.

Maybe one day one of us simply won't reply, and that will be that.

I'm surprisingly okay with that.

Not every meaningful person in your life has to remain there forever.

Some people are chapters.

Some are paragraphs.

Some are barely a sentence.

That doesn't mean they weren't important.

Right now, our little exchanges have become a rather lovely distraction in my day. I see his name in my inbox and wonder what little piece of himself he's going to reveal this time. Then I share a little piece of myself back.

Two guys who didn't know the other existed a few days ago, practicing the increasingly rare art of getting to know another human being without immediately deciding what he is.

There's something wonderfully naked about that.

So maybe that's my little challenge for you this week.

Stay curious.

When someone crosses your path unexpectedly, don't immediately assume you know why he's there.

You don't have to rescue him. You don't have to fix him. You certainly don't have to invite every crazy person who emails you into your living room.

But every once in a while, instead of immediately closing the door, leave it cracked open for another minute.

Ask one more question.

Listen to one more answer.

Let somebody tell you who he is instead of deciding for him.

Because sometimes a stranger is just a stranger.

And sometimes the guy who starts your Monday morning with “What the hell is this?” turns out to be exactly the conversation you didn't know you needed.