The first time I met Jordan Peterson was on September 12, 2004 | How to be good at English language

The first time I met Jordan Peterson was on September 12, 2004, at the home
of two mutual friends, TV producer Wodek Szemberg and medical internist
Estera Bekier. It was Wodek’s birthday party. Wodek and Estera are Polish
émigrés who grew up within the Soviet empire, where it was understood that
many topics were off limits, and that casually questioning certain social
arrangements and philosophical ideas (not to mention the regime itself) could
mean big trouble.
But now, host and hostess luxuriated in easygoing, honest talk, by having
elegant parties devoted to the pleasure of saying what you really thought and
hearing others do the same, in an uninhibited give-and-take. Here, the rule
was “Speak your mind.” If the conversation turned to politics, people of
different political persuasions spoke to each other—indeed, looked forward
to it—in a manner that is increasingly rare. Sometimes Wodek’s own
opinions, or truths, exploded out of him, as did his laugh. Then he’d hug
whoever had made him laugh or provoked him to speak his mind with greater
intensity than even he might have intended. This was the best part of the
parties, and this frankness, and his warm embraces, made it worth provoking
him. Meanwhile, Estera’s voice lilted across the room on a very precise path
towards its intended listener.