How to Be a ModernDay Renaissance Man or Woman

Whenever friends visit my hometown, New York City, I warn

them "Never ask anyone riding in the subway for directions."

"Because I'll get mugged?" they fearfully ask.

"No, just because you'll never get where you're going!" Most

Big Apple subway riders know only two things about the subway:

where they get on and where they get off. They know nothing about

the rest of the system. Most people are like NYC strap-hangers

when it comes to their hobbies and interests. They know their own

pastimes, but all the others are like unvisited stations.

My unmarried (and wishing she weren't) friend Rita has a bad

case of bowler's thumb. Every Wednesday night she's bowling up

a storm with her friends. She is forever discussing her scores, her

averages, and her high game. Another single and searching friend

Walter is into white-water rafting. He talks endlessly with his paddling friends about which rivers he's run, which outfitters he's gone

with, and which class rapids he prefers. Thinking my two single

friends might hit it off, I introduced Walter the paddler to Rita

the bowler and mentioned their respective passions.

"Oh you're a bowler!" said Walter.

"Yes," Rita smiled demurely, awaiting more questions about

her big bowling turn-on. Walter was silent.

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Masking her disappointment, Rita said, "Uh, Leil tells me

you're into water rafting." Walter smiled proudly, awaiting further

friendly interrogation on paddling. "Uh, that must be exciting.

Isn't it dangerous?" was the best Rita could do.

"No, it's not dangerous," Walter patronizingly responded to

her typical outsider's question. Then the conversation died.

During the deafening silence, I remember thinking, if Rita

had run just one river, if Walter had bowled just one game, their

lives might be different now. Conversation could have flowed, and

who knows what else might have flowered.

Go Fly a Kite!

The "Scramble Therapy" technique is salvation from such disappointing encounters. It will transform you into a modern-day

Renaissance man or woman who comfortably can discuss a variety of interests.

Scramble Therapy is, quite simply, scrambling up your life and

participating in an activity you'd never think of indulging in. Just

one out of every four weekends, do something totally out of your

pattern. Do you usually play tennis on weekends? This weekend,

go hiking. Do you usually go hiking? This weekend, take a tennis lesson. Do you bowl? Leave that to your buddies this time.

Instead, go white-water rafting. Oh, you were planning on running some rapids like you do every warm weekend? Forget it, go

bowling.

Go to a stamp exhibition. Go to a chess lecture. Go ballooning. Go bird-watching. Go to a pool hall. Go kayaking. Go fly a

kite! Why? Because it will give you conversational fodder for the

rest of your life. From that weekend on, you'll sound like an

insider with all the hikers, stamp collectors, ballooners, birders,

billiards players, kayakers, and kitists you ever meet. Just by doing

their activity once.

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If you take a piece of blue litmus paper and dip it in a huge

vat of acid, the tip turns pink. If you take another blue litmus paper

and dip it into just one minuscule drop of acid on a glass slide, the

tip turns just as pink. Compare this to participating in an activity

just one time. A sampling gives you 80 percent of the conversational value. You learn the insider's questions to ask. You start using

the right terms. You'll never be at a loss again when the subject of

extracurricular interests comes up—which it always does.

Do You Speak Scuba?

I'm not a certified scuba diver. However, six years ago in Bermuda

I saw a sign: "Resort Dives, $25, no Scuba experience necessary."

In just three hours, I received the best crash course in talking with

scuba divers the world offers.

First I was given a quick lesson in the pool. Then, struggling

to stay erect under the weight of my oxygen tank, regulator, buoyancy compensator, and weight belt, I went clumping out to the

dive boat. Sitting there on the rocking dinghy, fondling my mask

and fins like worry beads, I overheard the certified divers asking

each other insider questions:

"Where were you certified?"

"Where have you dived?"

"Do you prefer wrecks or reefs?"

"Ever done any night diving?"

"Are you into underwater photography?"

"Do you dive on a computer?"

"What's your longest bottom time?"

"Did you ever get the bends?"

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Why the italicized words? Those are scuba lingo. I now speak

scuba. To this day, whenever I meet divers, I have the right questions to ask and subjects to discuss. And the right ones to avoid.

(Like how much I like seafood. That's like telling a cat lover how

much you love tender barbecued kitten.) I can now ask my new

friends which of the scuba hot spots they've been to—Cozumel,

Cayman, Cancun. Then, if I want to really show off, I ask if

they've been to Truk Lagoon in the Far Pacific, the Great Barrier

Reef in Australia, or the Red Sea.

All the insider terms now roll comfortably off my tongue.

Before my Scramble Therapy experience I'd be calling their

beloved wrecks and reefs "sunken ships" and "coral." Understandable words, but not scuba words. Not insider words. Upon

meeting a scuba diver, I probably would have asked, "Oh scuba

diving. That must be interesting. Uh, aren't you afraid of sharks?"

Not a good way to get off on the right fin with a diver.