I was in a food market shopping yesterday when a woman came up to me. She was wearing a mask, but I could see the fear and worry in her eyes above the mask.

It often happens that people come up to me who know me – they saw my photo on a book or my face at a reading or in a TV interview from the days when I was interviewed a lot – but I don’t know them.

People rarely introduce themselves to me, they usually assume I remember them and know who they are.

It was soon clear that thus woman had been reading my blog, more and more people recognize me from that these days.  They all ask to say to Maria, who is vastly more popular than I am now, and rightfully so.

It is always strange being recognized by people you don’t know, and sometimes think you should know.

From her unsteady walk and the lines in her face, I would guess her to be in her late 70’s or 80’s. She was well dressed, she had a beautiful handwoven scarf around her neck.

I had the sense she was from New York City and had moved to the country with her husband years ago. Such women have a slightly foreign and not upstate manner about them, they never quite shed themselves of Manhattan.

She was quite beautiful, still stylish, and confident enough to approach me.

“Jon,” she said, “I know you don’t know me, and I apologize for interrupting you, but I want you to know that I have been reading your blog, and this week I sent 35 letters to seniors in Florida urging them to vote in the election.”

I didn’t know what to say, and she saw my confusion and said, “you wrote on your blog that rather than be afraid, it would be better to do something. So I am trying to take your advice. I read  your blog every day now, your columns keep me steady and sane.”

I told her it was lovely to hear that and it seemed a good thing she was doing. I hoped it made her feel better.

But I could see that she had something else to say.

She waited a while, and then, collecting herself (we were both wearing masks) she backed up and said in a soft voice.

“I am so frightened. I’ve never been so frightened in my life in America, not even in World War II when the radio was always talking about bombs and battles. We were all on the same side then, but now we are on different sides.  I’m just so frightened about what will happen, my husband died ten years ago and he always knew what to say.”

I wanted to give her a hug, but that is not recommended these days, and I am not a good hugger and was holding an armful of groceries.

I thought for a second and told myself that this is one of those moments when you are asked to be a human being, to find your humanity.

I know this is a hard time in our country, but I am surprised again and again at how much fear is spreading in our world.

I told her it was a time to be strong, that I believe things would turn out well, and soon, and I said it would be wonderful if she could accept that and be patient a little longer.

“We need to be strong,” I said, surprising myself. That is not something I would usually say to a stranger.

I was upset at how frightened and alone she felt, and I thought what an awful thing it was for America that a woman like this, alone later in life, was so frightened by our politics and conflicts and division.

What have we done in our country to frighten so many people about an election, something that is supposed to be our greatest strength and act of community, our oldest tradition as a democracy?

I could feel her loneliness and her fear. This is so wrong, I thought, that she was so frightened. As a culture, we have really messed up.

She thanked me profusely for trying to reassure her, but I doubted I really had. I wrote my phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to her. I said she should call me if the fear gets too bad.

Her eyes and manner touched me. I’m not in the habit of giving my cell phone number to strangers, but this seemed like a call for help from a vulnerable stranger who was deeply frightened.

I was shaken by it.

I urged her to be strong, and then we parted ways.

This afternoon, just before 3 p.m., my cell phone rang, and it was her,  I’ll call her Julia.

“Please forgive me for bothering you again.  You have a very calm and comforting voice, and you write in a calm and comforting way. I watched the news and got frightened again. That man is so angry.”

I assumed more authority, I felt I was standing in for her late husband. I felt I owed it to him.

“Listen, Julia, here’s what I think you need to do. Turn off your television and don’t watch any more news tonight. Call a friend brew some tea and talk to her on the phone while both of your drinking your tea. You’ve lived through a lot, and you will live through this. Don’t talk about politics. It’s not in your hands, it will sort itself out.  I think you will be pleased that the country is rising up to take back our country when all of this dust settles.”

I was quiet after that to let her take it in. I wonder how many other older men and women were sitting in their homes and apartments trying to make sense of a world gone awry.

She thank me and said she did feel better, and while she wouldn’t call me every day, or perhaps ever again, just having my number made her feel safer, she hasn’t been sleeping well.

Neither have I, I said. I have your number in my cell now and I will call you from time to time to check-in. In the meantime, call me anytime you want, day or night.

We’ll hold hands in a new kind of way and walk through this together, I said, and then I said goodbye.