Dear Stranger,
I have a question for you.
Actually, I have several.
What do you believe?
Not what your parents taught you. Not what someone told you that you were supposed to believe. Not even what you think I want to hear.
What do you believe?
And more importantly, why?
I’m not asking because I want to argue with you. I’m not looking for holes in your reasoning, and I’m certainly not trying to convince you that you’re wrong.
I’m asking because I’m curious.
Was there a moment when everything suddenly made sense to you? Or have your beliefs always been there, as familiar as the sound of your own name?
Have you ever questioned them?
Did questioning make them stronger? Or did it change them entirely?
What brings you comfort when life becomes unbearable? What gives you hope when everything feels hopeless?
And when you look at someone who believes something completely different, what do you see?
A stranger?
Someone who’s lost?
Or simply another person trying to make sense of a world neither of us fully understands?
I wonder how much we could learn from one another if we stopped preparing our responses long enough to listen.
Perhaps we’d discover that we have more in common than we thought.
Perhaps we’d discover that we don’t.
I think I’d be okay with either.
Because understanding you doesn’t require me to become you.
And understanding me doesn’t require you to agree with me.
So, dear stranger, tell me what you believe.
I promise I’ll listen.
With genuine curiosity,
A Stranger, Too
