I met someone because of a shirt

when small talk becomes real talk

This guy was wearing a bright shirt. Very bright. The kind of bright that made me realize I was about to talk to a stranger.

The back of it had words I couldn’t quite read until I got closer.

It said:

THIS IS A CONVERSATION STARTER

Which, of course, it was.

So, a conversation began …

In Brisbane, Australia, on a stop along a tour where I’ve been speaking at events about joy, I became friends with a guy because of his shirt.

Well, not just because of the shirt.

We began talking in that way strangers sometimes do when they already know something about each other. There was a warmth to this guy and after such a long journey, it was really nice to connect with someone I instantly felt a kinship with.

So, I asked him about the shirt.

It did, after all, say it was a “conversation starter”.

He told me the shirt existed for a reason. Not just something to start conversations, but to make space for the ones people don’t always know how to begin.

It’s an Australian company called TradeMutt. They make loud, colorful work shirts on purpose. The kind you can’t ignore, because … they’re trying to make something else impossible to ignore too. Turns out, I had come all this way to talk about joy and stumbled into a story that started right here.

One of the founders lost his close friend to suicide.

In the aftermath, he and a friend realized something:
people were talking all the time …
but not really talking ….
not about how they were actually doing.

So they started making shirts that would help folks do something a lot of us don’t quite know how to do on our own: TALK ABOUT WHAT’S ACTUALLY GOING ON.

It’s about connection.
Going first.
Starting the conversation.
Making the invisible visible.

At some point, my new friend shared that he’d lost someone dear to suicide.

And just like that,

we were no longer making small talk.

We were making room.

I told him that I understood, in my own way. Not the same story, but enough loss to recognize the feeling.

It’s in the double digits now of people I’ve held close as friends or family who are no longer here.

I know about the questions that don’t have answers.

The silence that often follows.

The strange, uncomfortable wondering:
What do you do with all this love that seemingly has nowhere to land?

There we were.
Standing there on the other side of the world …
next to an instant friend …
in a place where I was about to talk about joy …
talking about some of the darkest things a person can walk through …

and, yet, somehow … somehow still feeling a stubborn kind of hope.

I remember thinking, quietly to myself:

This is it. This is why I’m here.

Just two people telling the truth and realizing they weren’t alone.

Later, I noticed the front of his shirt. Four small letters:

Y.N.W.A.
"You’ll never walk alone.”

That’s a sentence I’m learning becomes true when one person is brave enough to go first.

The next morning, I was setting up for the big event.

Doing a sound check. (Which, at the request of no one, usually includes me singing. This morning it’s If I Only Had a Brain from the Wizard of Oz.) I was just reaching the part where things really start to fall apart vocally … the door opened.

It was my new friend.

He was holding a package. For me. He handed it over, smiled, and said something like, “I thought you might need one, too.”

Inside was a shirt.

My own.

THIS IS A CONVERSATION STARTER

We didn’t say much in that moment, though.

I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

There are moments where words feel unnecessary. (Or maybe just .. outmatched.)

I did say, “thank you.”
And I meant it in the way you mean things
when they’re bigger than the words.

This is not a sponsored post. Brendan (my new friend) isn’t part of the company. He’s just someone who believes in what it stands for.

I just needed to share this story.

It was a moment, during the World Joy Project ,where I experienced what I can only describe as the shadow side of joy… and discovering how even in the heaviest of conversations, light has a way of showing up.

Hopepunks (those bright brave folks willing to show up even when things aren’t all cupcakes and rainbows) know that joy isn’t the absence of hard things. It’s what happens when we don’t have to carry them alone.

As it’s been said: “Happiness happens, but joy abides.”

I keep thinking about the shirt.

Not just what it means to wear it, but … to be it.

To be someone who makes it a little easier for people to say the things they’ve been carrying.

To be someone who doesn’t rush past the real conversation when it shows up.

To be someone who remembers: you are not the only one walking through this.

Hope and joy don’t always look like big, loud acts.

Sometimes it just looks like a bunch of questions.

Sometimes it looks like two people
standing still long enough
to tell the truth.

Sometimes it’s realizing that even though we come from
opposite sides of the world,
we can be walking a similar road
together.

If you needed a sign to start a conversation today, this might be it.

1. If this made you think of someone, you don’t have to send them this post. You could just reach out. A simple “hey” can go a long way.

2. The shirt my friend game me comes from a company called TradeMutt.
   This isn’t sponsored. I just think what they’re doing matters.
   You can learn more about their ‘conversation starter’ idea here.

3. And … if you’re walking through something heavy right now, you don’t have to carry it alone. Here’s a simple place to start finding support:
   Psychology Today therapist directory