I was traveling home from a work trip and settled into my first-class seat, an upgrade, on an American Airlines flight from Hartford, Connecticut, to Chicago. It was the first leg of what was going to be a long travel day, and I was looking forward to quiet time—just me, my book and tech gadgets, and my thoughts.
Then the man sitting next to me started talking.
I had already sized him up. He hadn’t said a single word before I formed an opinion of him. It wasn’t the first time I had judged someone at first glance.
He was white, bald, and carried himself with a confidence that seemed arrogant, but if I am honest, it was probably the same kind of confidence I carry myself with, and I don’t consider myself arrogant or egotistical. His posture signaled self-assurance without trying too hard. In his hands, a book titled The Thin Blue Lie: An Honest Cop vs the FBI—that was enough for me.
In mere seconds, I built a full biography in my mind. I assigned him a political party. I assumed where he stood on American social issues. I probably also imagined which cable news channel he watched. All this before he even introduced himself to me.
Snap judgements are common, of course, and confirmed by research. A frequently cited study from 2006 showed people make assumptions about someone after viewing a face for a tenth of a second. Later research has shown that people are decent at guessing someone’s political party based on their headshots. But there’s a downside to taking a stab in the dark: Sometimes, as I learned firsthand, we get it wrong.
My seatmate and I began our dialogue with the usual small talk about travel, work and where we were headed. He was flying to Dallas for business. I was connecting in Chicago before heading home to Phoenix. But slowly the conversation began to widen.
We talked about politics—not the loud, performance-based version, but the personal side. Our conversation centered more on values than on party lines. He described himself as a moderate and a registered independent. Coincidentally, so was I.
We began to talk about family. He mentioned that his wife, a college professor, is very liberal. I told him that my fiancée is also very liberal. He spoke warmly and very proudly of his three children, one of whom is in nursing school. I told him that my daughter is a registered nurse.
Another overlap came. He was a veteran who had served in the Marine Corps Reserve. I, too, served in the Army Reserve. With each discovery, the version of this stranger I had created in my mind began to crumble. What hit me wasn’t how similar we were, but how wrong I had been. The man sitting next to me wasn’t the rigid character I had assigned him. He wasn’t a walking stereotype—he was thoughtful and nuanced. Like, I now understand, so many of us are.
By the time we landed, I was aware—and ashamed—of my snap judgment. My new friend then surprised me again. He invited me to join him as his guest in an airport lounge during our shared layover.
There, the conversation deepened; it was less guarded, more personal. At one point, he was telling a funny family story and couldn’t recall some details, so he called his daughter, then handed me the phone so she could explain.
As the layover and our conversation continued, “doing the right thing” came up more than once. When staff came by to clear our dishes, he reached into his pocket and handed them a $20 bill—not once, but on multiple occasions.
After nearly two hours in the lounge, it was time to part ways. As we stood up, I said to him what he had said to me first: “Do the right thing,” and I added, “and always be kind.” Of course, the irony wasn’t lost on me—I had not been kind to him at the beginning of our interaction. I had reduced him to a stereotype even before he told me his name.
The lesson for me wasn’t that we were similar, but that curiosity can win the day—if I let it.
Juan Cruz, Jr. is a freelance writer, business leader and leadership coach to service organizations.
All views expressed in this article are the author’s alone.
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