Why Saying Hello Still Matters

(SeaPRwire) –   During my everyday strolls around Silicon Valley, I have observed a minor yet constant pattern: whenever a greeting occurs, I am nearly always the person who starts it.

This does not mean the locals are cold. In fact, the area is populated by considerate, motivated, and highly charitable individuals. However, much like myself, they are often distracted—absorbed in their own thoughts, professional tasks, or the silent pressure of resolving their current challenges.

I recognize this expression because I often have it too. On multiple occasions, people have mentioned passing me on the levee without me even noticing them. Not long ago, a person asked if I was the one walking while preoccupied and making hand movements resembling a hand jive. Indeed, it was me, lost in the Grease soundtrack.

Still, despite being so self-absorbed, I feel a natural urge to offer a greeting.

This habit comes from my parents. For decades, they resided in a Southern California town where they were the sole Chinese family for a long distance. Given that isolation, they could have easily remained isolated, but they chose otherwise. They are naturally welcoming people. Even now, in their eighties and nineties, they readily chat with unfamiliar faces—be it an Uber driver, a store clerk, or someone waiting beside them in a queue.

Their chats start with basic questions like, “How are you doing? How long have you been driving?” Yet, these exchanges occasionally develop into deeper interactions, where personal stories and brief moments of connection are shared freely. While my parents wouldn’t use modern terminology like “seeing” someone, that is precisely what they achieve. They are genuinely, if briefly, recognizing the presence of another human being.

Lately, this practice seems to be fading.

I cannot claim to understand the precise reasons for this shift. Some causes are clear: individuals are rushed, distracted, or careful. In a bustling metropolis like New York, greeting everyone you pass would make walking down the block impossible, and being cautious is often justified. However, I am not referring to packed walkways or potentially risky situations. My focus is on the calmer, transitional moments—like a walk after dinner, waiting for a coffee, or any brief encounter where a simple hello is bypassed.

Not long ago, I visited a smaller town roughly an hour away, where life moves slower and the social atmosphere is slightly different. In that community, residents actually greet one another. They might even stop to chat, mention the weather, or compliment a dog that does not even belong to you. On one occasion, a passerby paused to sincerely tell me I was “rocking those bangs.” At my age, when having bangs feels more like a risky experiment than a fashion choice, I was incredibly thankful for the compliment.

While not a major event, it is highly apparent. Throughout the day, you start to realize you are walking through an environment where people actually notice each other.

This experience made me reflect on how communities are truly formed—not through massive efforts, but through fleeting, everyday interactions. It is built not by grand statements, but by the gradual buildup of minor acknowledgments that eventually form a strong, meaningful bond.

During the creation of my latest book, I grew intrigued by mycelial networks—the expansive subterranean pathways through which fungi link whole forests, enabling trees to share resources and data. This reveals that a forest is not just a group of separate trees, but an interconnected, communicative system kept alive by hidden bonds.

I have begun to question whether we have undervalued the human version of this network.

A simple greeting is neither a full discussion nor a promise. It requires only a brief moment of eye contact and a single word. Yet, it serves as a sign that says: I see you; you are not ignored. Individually, it appears insignificant, but collectively, it functions like infrastructure—acting as the societal roots that support our community, which we might only appreciate once they disappear.

In the digital world, animosity seems to be everywhere. Social platforms highlight the most aggressive, furious, and dogmatic opinions, making it seem as though society is entirely polarized and every exchange could lead to a fight.

Yet, when I shut my computer and step outdoors, I realize that the majority of people do not fit this description. Most are just regular individuals thinking about dinner plans, an overlooked email, or an awkward comment from days ago. They live their lives harmlessly, often showing more kindness than we expect.

However, meaningful bonds do not form automatically. If we stop practicing these minor gestures of recognition, they will eventually fade away.

Are we growing more afraid of each other, or have we simply become better at ignoring those around us and avoiding eye contact?

I continue to go on my walks. I still frequently get lost in my own mind, sometimes making a fool of myself by dancing to music only I can hear. Nevertheless, when I snap back to reality, I make an effort to look up, observe the people around me, and offer a greeting—even if it seems uncalled for or a bit uncomfortable.

Greeting someone carries a minor risk, but it is also a gesture of trust—an assumption that the stranger walking by is not a danger, but simply a neighbor you have not yet introduced yourself to.

Recently, that seems like a risk well worth taking.