Peel The Layers

I’ve spent the last few weeks doing something incredibly complicated.

I’ve been talking to people.

That’s it.

Strangers.

A hundred of them.

And when I started this hundred-person project, I thought I was conducting interviews. I thought I was going out there to learn what people thought about the country, what they were worried about, what they wanted to change.

But somewhere around interview number 20 or 30, something else started happening.

I stopped interviewing people.

And I started meeting them.

There’s a big difference.

Because when you see somebody you don’t know, your brain immediately starts writing their biography.

We all do it.

You see the clothes.

The hair.

The tattoos.

The car.

The age.

The skin color.

Maybe there’s a bumper sticker.

And within about seven seconds you’ve decided:

“Oh, I know this person.”

No, you don’t.

You don’t know shit about that person.

You know their shirt.

That’s about it.

And I’ve learned this firsthand.

I’ve walked up to people during this project and thought I knew exactly what kind of person I was about to interview.

And then they opened their mouth.

And five minutes later I’m thinking:

Holy shit. I had you completely wrong.

And that’s when I started thinking about that old expression:

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

We’ve heard that since we were children.

But there’s another part nobody tells you.

You’ve actually got to open the damn book.

That’s what talking to strangers does.

You start peeling away the layers.

First layer: appearance.

Gone.

Then maybe politics.

Gone.

Then religion.

Gone.

Then race.

Age.

Money.

Education.

Occupation.

Whatever little boxes we’ve been putting each other into.

And underneath all that stuff, something really strange happens.

You start finding yourself.

I’ve talked to a hundred different people.

Different ages. Different backgrounds. Different experiences. Different beliefs.

And the more people I talk to, the less different everybody seems.

Because once you get underneath all those layers, people start saying the same things.

They want to be safe.

They want a decent place to live.

They want to make enough money to enjoy their life.

They want healthcare when they’re sick.

They want their children to have opportunities.

They want somebody to love.

They want somebody to love them.

They want to laugh.

They want to matter.

They want to be heard.

That’s us.

That’s pretty much everybody.

And here’s the part that really surprised me.

Talking to strangers has changed me.

I thought this project was going to teach me about America.

Instead, it’s teaching me about John.

I’ve become more comfortable around people I don’t know.

I’m less suspicious.

I’m less judgmental.

I’m more curious.

And the world actually feels a little safer to me now.

Think about that.

We’re constantly being told to be afraid of one another.

Don’t trust those people.

Watch out for those people.

Those people are ruining the country.

Those people are coming for you.

And then you actually go talk to “those people.”

And you discover…

They’re worried about their mortgage.

Their kid needs braces.

Their mother isn’t doing well.

They’re trying to lose fifteen pounds.

They’ve got a dog they’re absolutely crazy about.

And suddenly the terrifying enemy you’ve been warned about is standing there showing you pictures of a Labradoodle named Kevin.

That’s a revolution right there.

And it doesn’t require Congress.

It doesn’t require a billion dollars.

It doesn’t require an app.

It doesn’t even require agreeing with anybody.

It requires five minutes.

That’s why I’ve become fascinated with the idea of a National Talk to a Stranger Day.

One day.

Everybody in America talks to one person they don’t know.

Not to convince them of anything.

Not to sell them anything.

Not to ask who they voted for.

Just talk.

Ask them their name.

Ask where they’re from.

Ask what they care about.

And then do something we’ve gotten really bad at:

Listen.

Peel away one layer.

Then another.

Then another.

Until you find something you have in common.

Maybe it’s music.

Maybe it’s kids.

Maybe it’s dogs.

Maybe it’s cancer.

Maybe it’s baseball.

Maybe it’s the fact that neither one of you can understand why a freaking hamburger suddenly costs eighteen dollars.

It doesn’t matter.

Find one thing.

Because the moment you find that one thing, something changes.

They’re no longer a stranger.

Now they’re Tom.

Or Susan.

Or Malik.

Or Maria.

And Maria isn’t “those people.”

Maria is the woman you just spent five minutes laughing with.

That’s how this starts.

Not with Washington.

Not with Republicans.

Not with Democrats.

Not with another screaming match on television.

With two people.

Two strangers.

Talking.

Listening.

Peeling away the layers.

I’ve talked to more than a hundred people now, and I’m beginning to think maybe the biggest discovery from this entire experiment isn’t what people told me.

It’s what happened between us.

For a few minutes, two people who had never met stopped being strangers.

And every single time that happens, the world gets just a tiny bit smaller.

So here’s my challenge.

Don’t interview a hundred people.

Start with one.

Tomorrow, find somebody you normally would have walked right past.

Say hello.

Ask a question.

Give them five minutes.

Peel away a layer.

Find one thing you have in common.

You might learn something about them.

You might learn something about yourself.

You might make a friend.

Hell, you might fall in love.

But at the very least…

you’ll have spent five minutes discovering something we’re in danger of forgetting:

We’re a hell of a lot more alike than we are different.

So talk to somebody.

Peel away the layers.

Find the human underneath.

And while you’re at it…

enjoy your life.