Growing up in the US, I always felt inclined to connect with people through what I shared with them. From as far back as I can remember, connecting through similarities was the default tactic for navigating conversations with strangers and initiating friendships.

When I was younger, these interests included Barbie, books such as "Where the Wild Things Are," and Nickelodeon's ugly cartoons. Over time, my cultural fabric eventually broadened to encompass a wider collection of things as I entered preadolescence: whichever movie Leonardo DiCaprio was in, boy bands, and Britney Spears through all of her phases.

While my mom and I had a celebrated tradition of watching films from the mid-20th century, including those of Alfred Hitchcock and ones based on Rodgers and Hammerstein works, I never connected with peers through this. When I brought it up, it would often have the effect of deflating conversation.

When Super Bowl season rolled around, the big game was a character of its own at the dinner tables of friends and colleagues, and even at dive bars. Even though I never watched it for the football, I'd at least want to be in the know about the halftime show or the ads. It was the same thing with "Survivor" or "The Bachelor" or even tabloid headlines — I didn't have to like it to want to know about it or have an opinion on it.

These cultural phenomena invited inclusivity. They were the currency of social exchange. At most of the dinner parties I've attended in the US, these sorts of topics were the adhesive for all the guests, while eccentricities felt better saved for the kind of one-on-one sharing that might happen in the faded early morning hours of an after-party or a sneaky rendezvous with a lover. And discussing politics at the dinner table in the States always felt taboo, unless everyone was nodding in agreement. Though I'd occasionally find exceptions to these generalizations, it was typically in intentionally iconoclastic settings, including Burning Man.

I moved to Europe seven years ago and spent time in Italy, Switzerland, France, Spain, and the UK. I'm currently living in Portugal, and during my time abroad, I've noticed that conversational glue tends to be of a different nature. Instead of people circumventing oddities or the unfamiliar, the norm was to dive straight into them.

I remember a New Year's Eve party in the south of France when this girl grabbed the speaker in the middle of dinner, emphatically insisting we listen to a "Brazilian mermaid." The song was "Água de Beber" by Astrud Gilberto. I loved it — not just the song but also the whole moment. No one felt the need to pretend they were already familiar with the music, and there was no discomfort with the unknown, just pure curiosity. She just put it on, and everyone listened hungrily, asking questions and wanting more. It became an inadvertent listening party.

Not only do many people I've met here have their own well-developed niche interests — like my fascination with the midcentury films I watched with my mom as a kid — but they also share a genuine desire to dive into each other's curiosities. For example, my ex-boyfriend's little sister was obsessed with manga. His whole 10-person family would eagerly inquire about it at dinner; even his friends would ask her about it when they were over at his house.

A Portuguese friend was deeply into the philosophy of Heidegger and never shy to talk about it with an idle ear at the bar — even with those who had no taste for philosophy. And here, talking about politics is welcomed, especially if people are not in agreement. I've begun to feel like Europe is characterized by a decentralized idea of culture and identity. I should note these observations are generalizations — and, naturally, there are always exceptions, except for (non-American) football. Everyone knows something about that here.

Of course, there may be a few explanations for what I've observed. The whole world could be changing, becoming more interested in differences than in similarities. Or it could be that I'm changing, along with my perception of myself, the world, and the people I surround myself with. Either way, I wonder whether there's meaning to be found in the evolution of the topics I find myself discussing. Though I'm not sure there's a correct answer, I've found beauty in seeing others through the lenses of both our similarities and our differences.