How someone got from the place where they were born, to the place where we first meet fascinates me. When I ask, most people are surprisingly eager to tell their story. As I listen, I soon discover how much we have in common. Those commonalities are the points of connection. We can choose to explore these connections or pass them by, but they are there for the taking.

Listening to a stranger tell the story of their life takes no more than 2 or 3 minutes time. In those minutes, a whole new life opens up before me. Who would have guessed this man came here from there. Who would have guessed this woman did that after that. Every life contains a wow.

While this is my habit when meeting a stranger, I’ve learned to listen closely — very closely. As people speak, there is always a period of time they rush through, or leave out altogether. Sometimes, what happened in that missing time zone is best left alone. Sometimes, asking why they skipped those years reveals something so essential I am glad I risked the question.

You bet. Every once in a while, I meet someone who is genuinely upset by the question, where were you born and how did you get here from there? Ouch. Nonetheless, even the harshest rejection tells me how much we have in common.

Every once in a while, I meet a stranger on a plane, or some other place we are passing through. Knowing we will be strangers when we leave, opens up experiences few people are willing to share with people they know, or even love.

One night, I met a man at a bus stop. It was late. It was dark. The terminal was locked up. It was a very bad part of town. I was alone. I was scared. In the dark, a deep voice said, “Miss, if you sit by me, they’ll leave you alone.” I grabbed my stuff and plopped myself right down beside the voice. We had the whole night to ride and talk. That night, my storyteller showed me the world through his eyes. The sun was coming up when we drove into the bus station. The man turned and said to me and now you are part of my story. I giggled and asked, how do I look? In my story, you will always be my friend. I’ve always believed, if people could have heard the stories we told each other that night, racism would have died on the spot.

I thought to add this here for a reason. Simply put, listening to someone tell their story, replaces my assumptions with something real and honest. In some magical way, it even transforms our differences into connections — for whatever makes us different, also makes us alike.