I’ve come to a conclusion about human beings.
Everybody is an onion.
That’s right. An onion.
Now, before you think I’ve completely lost my mind at 69 years old, hear me out.
I’ve spent the last several months doing something that most people don’t do anymore.
I’ve been talking to strangers.
Not texting them. Not emailing them. Not arguing with them on Facebook.
Actually talking to them.
Face-to-face. Eye-to-eye.
And I’m not talking about asking somebody how they’re doing and getting the standard response.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m fine, too.”
Well, isn’t that wonderful? Two people who are apparently fine, and neither one has learned a damn thing about the other.
I’m talking about real conversations.
And through all these interviews, I’ve discovered something fascinating about people.
We’re all made up of layers. Just like an onion.
Think about it.
The outermost layer is the one we show the world.
It’s our public persona.
It’s the person we want everybody else to believe we are.
Maybe you’re a successful businessman. Maybe you’re a teacher, a doctor, a construction worker, a college student, or a retiree.
Maybe you’re a Republican. Maybe you’re a Democrat.
Maybe you’re rich. Maybe you’re poor.
Maybe you drive a Mercedes. Maybe you ride the bus.
Those are all things people can see.
But here’s what I’ve discovered.
None of those things tells me who you really are.
They’re just the outer layer of the onion.
And unfortunately, that’s where most of our relationships begin and end.
We meet somebody, take one look at that outer layer, and decide we know everything we need to know about them.
We make assumptions.
We put people into categories.
We judge them by their clothes, their skin color, their age, their politics, their religion, or the neighborhood they live in.
And then we move on.
But what happens when we don’t move on?
What happens when we actually stop?
When we ask a question?
And more importantly, when we listen to the answer?
Well, something magical begins to happen.
We start peeling the onion.
That first layer comes off.
And suddenly, the person standing in front of you isn’t just a Democrat or a Republican.
They’re somebody who grew up in a little town in North Carolina.
They’re somebody who remembers their grandmother’s kitchen.
They’re somebody who worked two jobs to put their kids through college.
They’re somebody who lost a spouse.
Somebody who’s struggling to pay the rent.
Somebody who’s worried about their children.
Somebody who has dreams they haven’t told anyone about.
And suddenly, that stranger isn’t quite so strange anymore.
So you keep talking.
And another layer comes off.
And another.
And something remarkable happens.
The conversation changes.
The person’s voice changes.
Their body language changes.
They stop giving you the answers they think you want to hear.
They stop performing.
They stop trying to impress you.
And they begin telling you the truth.
Their truth.
Not the truth according to CNN.
Not the truth according to Fox News.
Not the truth according to some politician standing behind a podium.
Their own personal truth.
The truth they’ve accumulated through a lifetime of experiences.
The good decisions.
The bad decisions.
The victories.
The disappointments.
The heartbreaks.
The things they’re proud of.
And sometimes, the things they regret.
And if you’re lucky enough, and patient enough, you eventually reach the center of that onion.
The core.
And that’s where something extraordinary lives.
A human being.
Not a label.
Not a political affiliation.
Not a stereotype.
Just another human being trying to make sense of this crazy world we’re all living in.
Now, here’s something else I’ve learned about onions.
Sometimes, when you peel them, you cry.
And people are no different.
Sometimes, getting beneath those layers means hearing about pain.
Loss.
Loneliness.
Fear.
Disappointment.
And sometimes the person standing in front of you has been carrying that pain around for decades.
And all they needed was somebody willing to listen.
Think about that.
We live in a country with hundreds of millions of people.
We’re more technologically connected than at any point in human history.
We’ve got smartphones, social media, artificial intelligence, and the ability to communicate instantly with somebody on the other side of the planet.
And yet, somehow, we’ve forgotten how to talk to the person standing right in front of us.
How in the hell did that happen?
We’ve become experts at broadcasting our opinions.
But we’ve become terrible at listening to somebody else’s.
Everybody wants to be heard.
But who’s doing the listening?
That’s what I’ve been thinking about during my interviews.
I’m currently working on a project to interview a thousand people about Greensboro, North Carolina.
Four simple questions.
What do you like about Greensboro?
What don’t you like?
What would you change?
And what would you like this city to become?
Now, on the surface, those sound like questions about a city.
And they are.
But something interesting happens when you ask them.
People start telling you about their lives.
They tell you about their neighborhoods.
Their families.
Their struggles.
Their hopes.
And sometimes, a conversation that begins with a question about potholes or parking turns into a conversation about what really matters to that person.
And that’s when I realize something.
I’m not just learning about Greensboro. I’m learning about humanity.
I’m learning that behind every opinion is an experience.
Behind every fear is a story.
Behind every angry person, there may be somebody who’s hurting.
And behind every smiling face, there may be somebody who’s struggling.
You simply don’t know until you ask.
Now, I’m 69 years old.
I’ve lived a pretty extraordinary life.
I’ve been a sailor.
I’ve been a businessman.
I’ve raised a family.
I’ve survived cancer.
I’ve had tremendous successes and some spectacular failures.
And I’ve met thousands and thousands of people along the way.
But here’s the remarkable thing.
At 69 years old, I think I’m just beginning to understand what it means to really meet somebody.
Because there’s a big difference between meeting a person and knowing a person.
And there’s an even bigger difference between hearing somebody and actually listening to them.
I’ve also learned that you can’t force somebody to reveal their layers.
You can’t walk up to a stranger and say, “Hey, I’m John. Let’s get straight to your childhood trauma.”
That’s not going to work!
You have to earn their trust.
You have to be curious.
You have to be patient.
And most importantly, you have to be willing to put your own opinions aside long enough to understand theirs.
You don’t have to agree with them.
You don’t have to share their politics.
You don’t have to believe what they believe.
You just have to recognize that their experiences are every bit as real to them as yours are to you.
And when that happens, something beautiful takes place.
Two strangers become two human beings who understand each other a little better.
Maybe they become friends.
Maybe they never see each other again.
But for those few minutes, something meaningful has happened.
They’ve connected.
And I believe we need a whole lot more of that in America.
Because we’ve spent years building walls between ourselves.
Political walls.
Racial walls.
Economic walls.
Generational walls.
And maybe the first step toward tearing down those walls is something incredibly simple.
Talk to a stranger.
Not to convince them you’re right.
Not to win an argument.
Not to change their mind.
Just to discover who they are.
Ask a question.
Listen.
Ask another.
And see where the conversation takes you.
You might be surprised.
You might discover that the person you thought you had nothing in common with has lived a life remarkably similar to yours.
Or you might discover somebody whose life has been completely different.
And that’s wonderful, too.
Because every person you meet knows something you don’t.
Every person has experienced something you haven’t.
And every person has a story worth hearing.
So here’s my challenge.
The next time you’re standing in line at a coffee shop, sitting on a park bench, or waiting for a bus, put your phone away.
Look around.
Find somebody.
Say hello.
Ask them a question.
And give them five minutes of your undivided attention.
Five minutes.
That’s all.
You might not change the world.
But you might change somebody’s day.
And they might change yours.
Because after all these conversations, I’ve come to believe something very simple.
The greatest discoveries we make in life aren’t always about places, inventions, or ideas.
Sometimes, the greatest discovery is another human being.
And when a complete stranger trusts you enough to peel back those layers and show you who they really are, that’s something special.
That’s a gift.
So remember this the next time you meet somebody.
Everybody is an onion.
Everybody has layers.
Everybody has a story.
And somewhere underneath all those layers is a truth waiting to be discovered.
You just have to care enough to listen.
And if you’re lucky enough to reach the core?
Well, my friends…
That’s where the magic happens.
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