So I think it all started with one woman.

She was older, like a grandma type—short, with white hair. I used to see her on my morning walks, and there was something about her. I don't know what it was, but something about her just pulled me in. For some reason, on these walks, I would look forward to seeing her.

We never said anything to each other aside from the occasional good morning, or a wave, or a nod of the head. But I don't know. To me, she comforted me.

She had no idea.

When I would walk past her, in my mind I would—I don't know, maybe this is weird—in my mind, I would say to her, "My mom is dead, and my dad is dying."

Or, a month later, "My parents are dead. I don't have any parents."

And I don't know why I wanted to have that connection with her. I don't know why I wanted her to know. Maybe I didn't want her to know. Maybe I needed her to know.

But she didn't.

It was last year, 2025. My mom had passed away in January, and about two months after she died, we learned that my dad had terminal cancer and that he was going to go very quickly and traumatically.

So I was grieving one parent, anticipating the horrific, tragic loss of another, and it was all too much for me. Really, it was too much.

My morning walks became a bit of a haven—is that the right word?

My morning walks were really important. Being able to watch the sunrise and breathe in the fresh air, I think it was critical for me in order to keep going in some way.

And that's when I started noticing the woman, and I longed for that connection. There was something about her that just seemed kind. I don't know. I didn't know her. I didn't know anything about her. But there was something about her that seemed kind.

Sometimes I wondered if she could tell that I was grieving, or that I was carrying this very heavy thing.

But she probably didn't.

She was probably just being polite as she passed me on the street.

Anyway, that's the woman.

A couple months after my dad died, I woke up one morning and needed to walk.

I call it my walkabout.

I knew that I just needed to get up and walk, without knowing where I was going, without knowing how long I would be gone, but walking until my mind and body were done.

It felt like my soul was just pushing for this. It was longing for this.

So I got up, packed a small backpack, and started walking.

The first several miles, I was just listening to music or a podcast—I don't even really remember. I was probably five or six miles into my little journey, on the outskirts of town, when in my mind I caught a glimpse of myself, if that makes any sense.

Not like an out-of-body experience or anything like that. I just imagined myself walking and wondered what I must look like to people who passed me.

Did they know how far I'd walked, or how far I would be walking?

Did they know what I was carrying?

No.

Nobody knew anything.

But then I took that a little further. My mind started expanding on the idea: Well, what about these people who are passing me, or these people that I'm passing?

What are they doing?

Where are they going?

What are they walking toward or driving toward?

What are they moving away from?

What are they feeling today?

What are they hurting from?

My mind just started taking in all of this stuff, and then I started thinking bigger and bigger about all of these people that I pass every single day—and then, beyond that, the billions and billions of people in the world.

Billions of us, and not a single one of us experiences the same world.

Not one of us experiences life the same way.

We could be raised in the same family and still have vastly different experiences.

And so I just started getting curious.

Very curious about what our experiences do in terms of shaping our worldview and shaping how we experience life and humanity.

And it felt a little overwhelming, honestly. If you start thinking specifically about the suffering of billions of people, right? People going through grief, or abuse, or war, or tragedy—it can feel just overwhelming.

So I kind of pulled myself back.

And that's when—not a vision, but in my mind, just this whole concept—that's when this podcast was born.

I wanted to know about people.

I wanted to know about their lives.

I envisioned myself sitting next to them on my couch and learning about what their lives were like. How their experiences shaped their lives. What they think about random things. How do they see the world?

I wanted to learn about that.

And so this podcast just unfolded in my mind, and it was very exciting.

I even came up with the name Passersby.

At that moment, I had to pause because I wasn't even sure "passersby" was a word. And then I had to Google if it was one word or two. I did, there on the street.

And it is, in fact, one word.

And there it was.

In my mind, the podcast was created.

I was feeling very excited and very terrified because it felt like I had this new calling and this new purpose: to get to know people, to see people, and to help people feel seen.

So I was feeling pretty excited. I was feeling pretty pumped.

I had more walking to do, though.

I sat down on a curb to get a drink and have a little snack, and I decided I wanted to listen to an audiobook for however much longer I would be walking.

I didn't have any that I was listening to at the time, so I opened up Spotify. I don't know how I picked the book. I think it was a recommendation from Spotify. I'm not sure.

But I said, "Okay, we'll go for that."

I hit play. I didn't read what it was about or anything. I just hit play and started walking.

The book was The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry.

And to my astonishment—to my surprise—it ended up being about this man, Harold, who unexpectedly just starts walking. He goes on a long journey.

So I immediately felt connected to this book and to this character because here I was doing my walkabout, and Harold was doing his own walkabout.

And then, in the book, Harold starts talking about the people he passes and wondering about their lives, and talking about how we really don't know the people that we pass every day.

So there's this other connection.

Like, wow. This is connecting.

I don't know what this is.

And then Harold keeps talking, and he refers to them as "passersby"—the name that I had already selected for my podcast.

And it was just one of those moments where—I don't know. I don't really believe in signs. I don't think it was a sign.

To me, it just felt like a confirming coincidence, maybe.

But also, maybe in that moment I took comfort. I felt like the universe somehow was recognizing me, recognizing my grief, the things I was going through, and giving me something that could carry me a little bit.

Maybe that was it.

I'm not sure.

But anyway, it was solidified right there. It was mostly solidified before I started the book, and then after I started listening, I just felt like, this is what I'm gonna do.

I don't like being on camera.

I feel like I am not great at conversation.

I feel like I can be a little awkward at times.

And so I'm terrified to do this podcast. Just legit gonna put that out there.

I am terrified.

I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of—I don't even know what failure looks like in this case, because me doing it, to me, is a win.

But I want to do right by the people that I will be meeting with.

So that's where it started.

Because there's billions of us walking this planet, each of us experiencing it in a completely unique way.

We pass each other every day without knowing what the other person has loved, or lost, or is afraid of, or is figuring out, or has survived, or has won.

I'm so excited to get to know people. To get to know what makes us human.

And each of us is so uniquely human.

And I am inviting you to join me.

I want you to think about everyone you passed today.

How little you know about them.

How every one of them has a story you haven't heard, a perspective you haven't considered, an entire world that you know nothing about.

So let's stop for a minute.

And let's get to know one.

This is Passersby, where we take the time to see each other.