Earlier this week, I had a scheduled appointment with my financial adviser. After inheriting a little family money a few years ago (and not expecting much support in the way of social security), I felt charged with the mission to take care of my little nest egg.

Over the past several months, I watched my investment portfolio ride the roller coaster,  streaking to unexpected peaks and, a couple times, dipping below the amount of my initial investment. When I opened my brokerage account with a branch of my bank, I knew there would be some ups and downs. Still, it became hard to see such frequent fluctuations online every time  I monitored my checking account.

Ken, my investment adviser, and Travis, my banking contact, greeted me with good humor. I teased Ken about his choice of shirts and ties as being a way to rock out of the banker’s suit, generally conservative, uniform of his job. They offered me a bottle of water, which of course was re-labeled with the name of their firm. (Never lose an opportunity to send the got your needs covered message, right?) It was kind of funny.

I came prepared with questions. They smiled. They were good questions, they told me. I wanted to know what the portfolio managers were doing to mitigate market volatility. I wanted to know how they planned to get my investments back on track to reach yearly growth goals I had set.

Ken smiled as he took out colorful graphs and grid-filled charts. He talked about market performance over time and the different indexes that could be indicators for different asset classes. Somewhat to my surprise, he even answered my questions.

I wasn’t planning to make any radical changes, but the experience of trying to plan for my financial future was new to me, and I wanted to be a participant, not a spectator, in decisions. At least, I wanted to understand the roller coaster a little better.

As I finished my bank-labeled bottled water and got up to shake their hands, Ken asked if I had plans for the weekend; a personal but not unexpected gesture. After I shared a few probabilities for weekend socializing, Ken offered that he was going to be getting married on Saturday. He added that the wedding was going to take place in Colorado where his fiancé is from. He went on to explain that he was in a car accident recently and was relieved that he didn’t scratch his face or in any way blemish himself for keepsake photos, let alone rupture a kidney.

He got sort of sentimental and philosophical, saying something about the joys and challenges of living with someone. I can’t remember his exact words, but I definitely caught the sentiment.

When you live with someone you love, he explained without the aid of a Power Point graphic,  the little annoyances don’t really matter, like how a partner might not close the faucet all the way or how he or she might not always put their dirty clothes in the hamper. What IS important is how much pleasure you get from their company and how much your partner spurs you into growing. I think he was looking forward to his marriage as a great adventure.

And I thought about other instances in my life when people who I thought of mostly in the context of a socially defined relationship seemed to shed their roles and stand out as the  individuals they were; as people with wicked senses of humor, secret abilities, eccentric charms, big dreams, or deeply rooted vulnerabilities.

When being real and intimate with someone has come as a surprise to me, like it did at my bank, I always feel grateful. At these moments, I can see that there are no real boundaries between me and others. My financial advertiser, or doctor, or shoe salesmen, or tollbooth attendant – we all want to feel free and safe and loved. We’re all human.

Seeing someone as more than a suit is no small thing.