Houston We Have A Why!

I’m 69 years old, and I’ve finally figured out what the fuck I’m doing with my life!

I’m asking WHY!

That’s it! That’s my whole purpose!

Sixty-nine years on this planet, three cancers, four careers, two marriages, four kids, and now I’m running for mayor of Greensboro, North Carolina.

And my entire philosophy can be summed up in one word.

WHY?!

I’ve been asking WHY since I was six years old.

My nickname was Punny.

My mother would say, “Punny, clean your room!”

“WHY?”

“Because I said so!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE I’M YOUR MOTHER!”

“Well, how the fuck did THAT happen?”

I was a difficult child.

My teachers hated me.

“John, what’s two plus two?”

“Four.”

“Very good!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE THAT’S MATHEMATICS!”

“Well, who decided THAT?”

I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.

It just came naturally!

Now, here’s what’s interesting.

For most of my life, I’ve been trying to figure out why people do what they do.

Why do people fall in love?

Why do people hate each other?

Why do people vote for politicians who make their lives miserable?

And why, at 69 years old, am I still trying to figure out how to operate my fucking television?

I’ve got a Tesla that drives itself, a phone that recognizes my face, and a vacuum cleaner that maps my house.

But I still can’t figure out which remote turns on Netflix!

We’ve sent people to the moon, but apparently operating a Samsung television requires a Ph.D.!

Anyway, I’ve started this project.

I’m interviewing a thousand people in Greensboro.

One thousand complete strangers!

And I have four questions.

What do you love about Greensboro?

What don’t you love?

What would you change?

And WHY?

That’s the important one.

WHY?

Because I’ve discovered something.

People are like onions.

You peel away one layer, there’s another.

You peel away another, there’s another.

And eventually somebody starts crying.

Usually it’s ME!

And I have discovered that if you keep asking WHY, people will tell you the most extraordinary things.

You start out talking about potholes.

Five minutes later, you’re discussing their childhood.

Ten minutes later, they’re telling you about their divorce.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both crying.

Thirty minutes later, I’m thinking:

“Holy shit! I should be charging for this!”

My therapist charges me $150 an hour.

I’m out here doing it for FREE!

I’m running the only mental health clinic in Greensboro that operates out of a coffee shop!

And here’s something else.

I’ve been spending the last couple of days at GHOE.

Thousands and thousands of African Americans celebrating together.

And there I am.

The white guy.

I stood out like a mayonnaise sandwich at a barbecue competition!

I’m looking around thinking:

“Well, John, you’ve finally found a place where nobody’s going to confuse you with somebody else!”

But you know what?

I started talking to people.

And the most wonderful thing happened.

We connected.

I met this gentleman, and we started talking about the African American experience.

We talked about history.

We talked about reparations.

We talked about the challenges of creating a fair society.

And I kept asking questions.

WHY?

HOW?

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?

WHY DO YOU FEEL THAT WAY?

And after a while, I realized something.

I wasn’t talking to a demographic.

I wasn’t talking to a statistic.

I was talking to another human being.

And we were getting to know each other.

Really know each other.

Of course, the poor guy probably thought:

“Jesus Christ, does this white man EVER shut the fuck up?”

I can hear him telling his friends:

“I met this old white dude who asked me 47 questions about my childhood!”

“What did you do?”

“I told him everything!”

“WHY?”

“OH, GOD! NOT YOU TOO!”

But here’s what surprised me.

When I walked away from that conversation, I felt wonderful.

Not because I’d accomplished something.

Not because I’d gotten a vote.

Not because somebody told me how brilliant I was.

I felt wonderful because I’d connected with another person.

And I realized something about myself.

I’ve spent my whole life asking people the questions I wish somebody would ask ME.

Think about that.

I want somebody to ask me:

“Who are you?”

“Why are you the way you are?”

“What happened to you when you were little?”

“What makes you happy?”

“What scares you?”

And most importantly:

“Why the hell are you running for mayor at 69?”

That’s actually a pretty good question!

And when I thought about who I really am, underneath all these layers, I came up with an answer.

I’m still that six-year-old boy.

Little Punny.

The kid who wanted somebody to love him, accept him, and listen to him.

And you know what?

I love that little kid.

I wouldn’t trade his life for anything.

He’s about to have one hell of an adventure!

Three cancers!

Two marriages!

Four kids!

A Navy career!

And at 69, he’s going to start interviewing strangers and running for mayor!

If somebody had told six-year-old Punny all that, he’d have said:

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I DO THAT?”

But there’s one more thing you need to know about my childhood.

When I was growing up in Nassau Bay, Texas, my next-door neighbor was Gene Cernan.

The astronaut.

The last man to walk on the moon!

I actually watched Apollo 17 launch.

And I’ll never forget that Saturn V rocket.

Three hundred and sixty-three feet tall.

Five enormous engines.

Seven and a half million pounds of thrust.

The ground shaking.

The engines roaring.

The whole damn thing lifting off toward the moon!

And lately, that’s exactly how I feel about my life.

I’m 69 years old, and I feel like I’m strapped into that Saturn V rocket.

The engines are roaring!

Everything’s shaking!

My whole life is changing!

And I’m sitting right next to Gene Cernan.

Gene looks over at me.

“JOHN! YOU OKAY?”

“HELL YES, GENE!”

“YOU KNOW WHERE WE’RE GOING?”

“NO!”

“THEN WHY THE HELL ARE WE DOING THIS?”

And I look him right in the eye.

“BECAUSE I WANT TO FIND OUT WHY!”

And that’s when I realized something.

I’ve spent 69 years looking for answers.

Answers about love.

Answers about happiness.

Answers about people.

Answers about myself.

And I finally figured it out.

The secret isn’t having all the answers.

The secret is never losing the curiosity to ask the questions.

Because every stranger has a story.

Every person has another layer.

Every conversation is another adventure.

And every morning, I wake up wondering:

“Who the hell am I going to meet today?”

And that’s a wonderful way to live.

So here’s my advice.

Talk to strangers.

Ask questions.

Listen to their answers.

And when somebody tells you something interesting, don’t just nod your head and walk away.

Ask WHY!

And if somebody tells you you’re too old to start a new adventure, tell them about me.

I’m 69 years old.

I’m running for mayor.

I’m interviewing a thousand strangers.

And I’m sitting on top of a Saturn V rocket with Gene Cernan!

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!

“What’s the problem, John?”

“I’VE GOT A THOUSAND QUESTIONS AND ONLY 69 YEARS TO ASK THEM!”

“Well, John, what’s the first question?”

“GENE, WHERE’S THE FUCKING BATHROOM ON THIS THING?!”