Everyone Has a Story

There used to be this segment on the national news that our family enjoyed. It was called "Everyone Has a Story" and the storyteller was a journalist named Steve Hartman.

It was human interest kind of stuff, but we loved it. The story would open with Steve throwing a dart at a map of the US, and then whatever town the dart landed on, he would go to that town and get a phone book and then pick a random name from the phone book. And off he would go, to meet that person and find out their story.

It doesn't seem like it would work, as a piece on a newscast or even as entertainment.

I mean, the first thing you think when you see him knocking on the door of an unknown person is, "Well, what if he knocked on MY door? I don't have a story. People would be so bored. There's nothing to tell. How can this even work when he doesn't know who's behind the door and if they are going to have anything interesting to say?"

It turns out Steve Hartman was right, though. Everyone Has a Story. Not once did he knock on a door and get faced with a dud. Not once. And I'm going to give Steve Hartman his due credit and say he was (is) a fantastic journalist. The guy knew what to ask and how to follow up to get good stories from people.

I got to thinking about this because last week I gave a statement in a courtroom at a sentencing hearing. The courtroom was filled with people, most of whom had nothing to do with the case for which I was there. There were defendants in orange jumpsuits waiting their turn to enter a plea with the judge. There were lawyers walking in and out counseling clients as to the status of their cases. There were family members there to support their relatives, friends to support their friends. It was a room filled with the spectrum of humanity, from victims to perpetrators and everyone caught in between.

I was there to tell my story. Which had nothing to do with most of the people in that room. Yet they all had to listen to it.

Afterwards, when I sat down, the woman sitting to my left, whom I did not know and had no idea why she was in that courtroom that day, turned to me and said, "You did great. I'm so sorry. I wish you all the best."

And then as Dave and I were walking to our car in the parking lot, a woman stopped her car and yelled out to me, "Excuse me!" and when I turned around to respond she said, "God bless you."

And I just wanted to cry. Not because I was sad. Kind of the opposite. These two people, who I do not know and will probably never see again, took a moment to let me know they heard my story. They stopped doing what they were doing to be kind to me, someone they did not know.

Because they heard me.

We don't live in a world right now that encourages us to take the time to ask people what their story is. We live in the era of snap judgements (Twitter likes) and assumptions (what channel you watch is who you are). Imagine if we took the time to ask people who they are, and then actually listened to them. And maybe shared some of who we are. We might find commonality, altruism, compassion in the unlikeliest of people.

Details. Facts. Background. Nuance. Those things take time and effort to find out. We should spend that time making that effort.

It's not likely that Steve Hartman is going to come knocking on my door. But if he does, I have a story. And I'd like to hear his.