Community

This weekend, downtown Greensboro is going to be absolutely packed.

We’ve got the North Carolina Folk Festival.

Music everywhere.

Food everywhere.

People dancing.

Kids running around.

And more than a hundred thousand people coming together in downtown Greensboro.

And the beautiful thing?

It’s free.

But I’ve been thinking about it, and I realized something:

This isn’t really about music.

The music is the excuse.

The people are the point.

Because for three days, people from every imaginable background are going to walk around the same few blocks of downtown Greensboro.

Black people. White people. Young people. Old people. Rich people. Poor people.

People who voted Republican.

People who voted Democratic.

People who didn’t vote at all.

And here’s the amazing thing:

Nobody walking down Elm Street is going to stop somebody and say:

“Excuse me, before we listen to this bluegrass band, could I see your voter registration?”

No!

You’re going to hear somebody playing incredible music and turn to the complete stranger standing beside you and say:

“Holy shit, these guys are good!”

And that person is going to say:

“Yeah, they are!”

Congratulations.

You just met an American.

That’s it.

That’s how complicated this is.

I’ve been spending the last few weeks talking to strangers.

A lot of strangers.

I’ve interviewed more than a hundred people now.

And something has happened to me that I didn’t expect.

The world has gotten smaller.

And friendlier.

And a hell of a lot more interesting.

Because when somebody is a category, it’s easy to be afraid of them.

When somebody becomes a person?

That’s different.

You can argue with a person.

You can laugh with a person.

You can disagree with a person.

You might even discover that somebody who looks completely different from you wants almost exactly the same things you do.

A safe place to live.

A decent job.

Good schools.

Affordable health care.

Some money left at the end of the month.

A little happiness.

Maybe somebody to love.

And maybe five minutes where nobody is yelling at them.

That’s pretty much America.

And that’s why I think festivals like this matter.

They’re not just entertainment.

They’re community infrastructure.

We think infrastructure means roads.

Bridges.

Sewers.

Airports.

And yes, absolutely—we need all of that.

But human beings need another kind of infrastructure.

Places to meet each other.

Parks.

Festivals.

Farmers markets.

Libraries.

Concerts.

Neighborhood block parties.

Places where you can accidentally encounter somebody you never would have met otherwise.

Because we’re eliminating accidents from our lives.

Think about it.

We work from home.

We order dinner from an app.

Amazon leaves the package at the door.

You can buy groceries without speaking to another human being.

You can bank without a teller.

You can watch a movie without going to a theater.

Hell, pretty soon we’ll be able to live an entire week without putting on pants.

Efficient?

Absolutely.

Healthy?

I’m not so sure.

Because somewhere along the way, we’ve engineered the stranger out of our lives.

And I’ve discovered something:

I like strangers.

They’re fascinating!

Every stranger is basically a book you haven’t opened yet.

Some of them are short stories.

Some are novels.

Some are mysteries.

And occasionally you meet one and think:

“Okay, I’m putting this one back on the shelf.”

That’s fine too!

But you’ve got to open the book.

And that’s exactly what I’m planning to do this weekend.

I’m going downtown.

I’m taking my camera.

I’m taking my microphone.

I’m going to interview people.

I’m going to listen to music.

I’m going to eat something that’s probably terrible for me.

I’m going to talk to people I’ve never met.

And I’m going to have an absolute field day.

Because imagine the possibilities.

More than a hundred thousand people.

That’s more than a hundred thousand stories walking around downtown Greensboro.

I couldn’t interview everybody if I stood there with a microphone until Christmas.

But I can meet one.

And then another.

And another.

That’s really what this whole experiment of mine has taught me.

You don’t have to change the world today.

Talk to one person.

Five minutes.

That’s it.

Ask their name.

Ask where they’re from.

Ask what brought them downtown.

Ask what they’re worried about.

Ask what they’re excited about.

Then do something revolutionary:

Shut up and listen.

Because you might discover something.

That person you’ve been told you’re supposed to hate?

You might actually like them.

The person you thought had nothing in common with you?

They might make you laugh.

And that stranger standing beside you watching a band?

They might become your friend.

That’s actually happened to me.

So this weekend, Greensboro has an extraordinary opportunity.

Yes, come downtown for the music.

Come for the food.

Come for the dancing.

Come because it’s free.

But while you’re there, try something else.

Talk to somebody you don’t know.

One person.

Five minutes.

No agenda.

No argument.

No sales pitch.

Just curiosity.

“Hi. I’m John. What’s your name?”

That’s it.

Because maybe community isn’t something politicians create.

Maybe community isn’t something you can legislate.

Maybe community is simply what happens when human beings stop avoiding each other.

And if more than a hundred thousand people can gather peacefully in downtown Greensboro for a weekend—

listen to music,

dance,

eat,

laugh,

and share the same streets—

then maybe we’re not nearly as divided as we’ve convinced ourselves we are.

So I’ll see you downtown.

I’ll be the 69-year-old guy walking around with a microphone talking to everybody.

And if you see me—

come say hello.

Because I’ve learned something lately that I wish I’d learned a long time ago:

You might arrive as a stranger.

But you don’t have to leave as one.