That’s how I ended up in Winchester, a city of about 28,000 in Northern Virginia.
In Virginia’s last election, Winchester was fairly evenly split between Republicans and Democrats.
The surrounding county has gone Republican for decades.
I talked to many people there. Everyone had something interesting to say. Let me introduce you to some of them:
One woman told me she was living with her ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife and their kids. And that she sleeps with a Winnie-the-Pooh teddy bear.
A teacher talked about a shy student who gained confidence through sports — and now had a girlfriend.
Another woman grew up in a hippie commune and worked on farms around the country after high school. (Far out! 🤯)
To most people, politics is important. But it’s not everything. It’s not even the most important thing.
And — spoiler alert! — here is the result of my experiment: Talking to people without knowing their political views renewed a faith I had begun to question. Americans still have much more in common than it may seem sometimes.
So as Election Day approaches, with all the hard and unruly feelings we know it will bring, I will introduce you to some of the beautiful randos I met in Winchester and around the country. Perhaps meeting them will restore some of your faith, too.
The election is dominating the national conversation, but there are plenty of other things to talk about. And as it turns out, when we put politics aside, what we are left with is life.
Oh, and I’m not going to tell you how they plan to vote. At least not yet.
In Winchester, I met a 38-year-old man named Jason Blosser. I spotted him in a bar that had live music and served chicken wings.
Jason was there with two friends. All three were White and had long beards. As I sized them up, I was confident I was about to say hi to a group of conservative people.
I sat near them, ordered a beer and waited — a Brazilian jaguar setting an ambush.
From my seat, I could hear their animated conversation: They were talking about other men. My attempt to stereotype conservatives had landed me near three bears having a few drinks. I approached them.
Jason later told me he was born and raised in a Pentecostal family in rural West Virginia. His early life revolved around the church.
When Jason was in his early 20s, he was studying to become a minister, and the pastor of his congregation died. Jason unexpectedly became his church’s lead pastor. He loved it.
A few months later, a member of his church stopped attending services. Jason called to check in, as good pastors do.
The woman told him she suspected he was having a relationship with one of the men from the church.
“If you don’t tell your parents,” she threatened, “I’m going to.”
Jason called his parents and church leaders that same night. His family supported him, but the church leadership said he could only remain a pastor if he ended the relationship and lived in celibacy. Jason said he couldn’t do that. So they told him: “When you get relief from this demon, you can come back.”
Heartbroken, Jason left the church. Months later, he found a job in Winchester and moved there with his boyfriend.
Years later, they adopted a girl, Rebecca, who recently turned 5. The couple broke up, but they are still raising Rebecca together.
Jason remains upset about how his church treated him. His faith is shaken, but he said he still reads his Bible and, from time to time, the notes he took while preparing sermons.
“Maybe the reason all this happened is so that I could have Rebecca in my life,” he said.
I was looking for parking in downtown Winchester when Tim Bower’s big beard and bright pink umbrella caught my attention.
I doubted he’d talk to me. I guess I tend to think White men with long beards aren’t friendly. I kept driving, and I parked a few blocks later.
It was drizzling, and I didn’t have an umbrella. To my surprise, Tim turned the corner and started walking in my direction. As he approached, he reached into his pocket and asked: “Would you like a poncho?”
I had been proved a fool again.
Tim told me he used to work as a forklift operator but had to go on disability after having emergency surgery. He has been trying to learn new skills and hopes to find an office job.
We talked about his family, religion, birds, squirrels and UFOs.
Tim said he has struggled with depression. He told me about a conversation he once had with his father about lighthouses.
His dad had told him lighthouses were a symbol of hope: When people are in trouble, lighthouses are a sign that there’s someone out there looking out for us.
Days after that conversation, Tim came across two little lighthouse statues in a box marked “free.” He took them to his father.
“Ever since we had that conversation, lighthouses have seemed to come to my life,” he said. When his dad died, Tim inherited the lighthouses that started it all.
He has dozens of lighthouse figures, lamps and prints that he has stumbled upon over the years.
“I think my dad knew it would help with my depression,” he said. “They give me hope. They’re a reminder that there’s light out there that can guide you somehow, somewhere.”
When I met Melody Soares, she had just gone through her first love — and her first breakup. She wrote a song about it:
Breakups hurt. Especially the first. I feel you, Melody. ❤️
Melody’s parents emigrated from India, and she is the youngest of five children. She was born on Long Island, but the family moved to Virginia for work when she was a toddler.
Melody grew up in a musical family. Her dad plays guitar, and everyone in her house sings or plays an instrument. Now Melody writes her own songs and hopes to sing professionally. She just started college.
Melody would love to pursue music, but she decided to study business. (She wants a fallback.) Meanwhile, she works at a Starbucks, hangs out with friends, and posts her songs on Instagram and TikTok.
I recently checked in with Melody again. It took a few months, but she’s moving on from the heartbreak. She had a new song to share with me:
It’s easy to like Melody. Her openness, her beautiful voice and her passion for music are endearing. At 20 years old, she has a life ahead her. But no matter our age, we all carry something of Melody inside us.
About half the country is bound for a heartbreak in November. No matter who wins, a lot of people will see disaster in the result. But this election is just one stage in the American story, sailing ever onward. We have known rough seas before, and we’re in this ship together.
Would it be fair to describe Melody, Jason and Tim as “voters”? Sure. But they are so much more than that. If nothing else, these stories of random people show that if we approach each other with interest, we open ourselves to the beautiful complexity of the people we share this country with.
Would any of that be different if you knew how they were going to vote?
Do you have a friend or loved one whose political beliefs are different from your own? Tell us what you’ve gained or learned from that relationship, and we might publish your submission as a letter to the editor.