WHAT'S YOUR STORY?
Do you ever see a stranger and wonder...
“What’s it like being you?”
I’ve been asking that question for the past fourteen years and have received more than 85,000 hand-written, true, and anonymous answers. Whether about love or loss, joy or fear, what they all have in common is an honest voice of the human experience. We’re living in a time where the differences between us are magnified. I believe that what starts as a simple act of listening can be a profoundly transformative experience. Exploring the lives of the people we share space with every day shows us how wonderfully human we all are. These stories engage strangers of all ages and backgrounds to reflect, rejoice, heal and connect through words.
Everyone Has a Story
I started the Strangers Project in 2009 as a small experiment. What I thought would be a one day exploration of the strangers we share space with every day turned into something I never could have imagined.
To put it simply, my mission is to make space for stories.
Where to Follow
I share daily stories and behind the scenes looks at collecting stories around the world. Follow along wherever you want to find stories!
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Today, 11/7/24, I come to the World Trade Center in search of a Sing for Hope piano! I was so excited… anxious too, but my excuse is that I’m a beginner.
As I walk through the station, I spot one; a colorful, artistic, and beautiful piano. Prior to me trying to play the piano, there’s a gentleman. A majestic melody travels through my eardrum and he plays with such grace, elegance, beauty. I start hesitating to try and even play after such a performance.
“Face your fears,” they say. If I want to play, I need to be confident in my own skill, my own hard work, my own time and practice put into playing this piece. I sit, and breathe.
DUN!!! The piano sounds so loud, but my heart beats even louder. I’m scared, I’m so scared but I continue playing anyway. The gaze of everyone surrounding me shadows behind my back. I love the piano. I really do. Whenever I play, I feel excited, so excited for my progress in becoming a great pianist.
I mess up, the sound of the wrong key pierces my ear and I cringe. I wrap up quickly and end the song. As of now, my hands still shake from the adrenaline-inducing experience, yet I’m proud.
I’m proud that I managed to come here on my own and do what I feel most passionate about as of right now.
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11/6/24
Another election; another dark day. But on this one, I wasn’t fully pulled into the mire. I’m going to be a father…
I found out three months ago, and the news and coming reality has painted my world ever since. The call to nurture, to protect, is stronger than my rage now. The anger is there, but its power is waning.
I wish the same for the entire country: for the softer, gentler, loving side of this universe to find you as it has found me. The forces are out there, and all we can do is lean toward them — such is our nature. ♡
I don’t know what makes a man, or a better one, other than the constant trading in of darkness for light. To create more than we destroy. Our instincts make it hard, but if we could do just that, incrementally, every day, we’d have nothing to fear.
We have nothing to fear.
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Today, I’m opening up the Strangers Project space, both in person and online, for anyone who feels the need to pause, reflect, and express themselves. My doors are open if you need a place to write, breathe, or simply be.
While I usually only collect stories in person, this week I’m inviting you to share your words from anywhere. These submissions will be saved in a separate collection for our long-term archive.
I believe that expressing yourself in your own handwriting can be deeply cathartic. I look forward to hearing from those who want to share what it’s like being you right now.
The Oculus exhibit will be open today at 2pm, with regular hours through rest the week. If you’d like to send in something digitally, please follow the usual guidelines: something honest, anonymous, and within one page. Your story can be as short or long as you wish, as long as it fits on one page. If possible, write on blank paper and share a clear photo or scan for the archive.
You can send your submission to hello@strangersproject.com or DM it here. While I’ll be able to see who sent submissions, all will remain completely anonymous as usual.
Digital submissions for this separate collection will be accepted until this Sunday, Nov 10th.
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I am scared to die. I am scared of floating in nothingness, aware that I am alone. Aware that I will be alone forever. I’m scared to lose my partner. I’m scared of the moment I know I will never touch his skin again. I’m scared of watching my body deteriorate. I’m scared of the process of saying goodbye to it. I love my body. It is my home and I’m scared that no matter how long I have with it, it will never feel like enough. I’m scared of watching my partner die.
I still don’t understand the point of living if we all just die anyway. Why do we get this one wondrous moment in time simply to watch it pass us by? I’m scared that my story is just a story of fear.
2024
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This morning I saw this reaction someone shared after finding the story wall I recently installed at JFK Terminal 8.
It means the world to me to see how deeply this project resonates with people. I’d love to bring a story wall to even more places—where should I take the strangers project next year? Let me know.
(Thanks @katt_daddy for sharing your experience!)
Hey everyone! Brandon here.
I’m excited to announce two special days of story collecting coming up—and my first time bringing the Strangers Project to Queens!
I’ve partnered with @queenscentermall to bring a story wall to Queens from now until November 4th. You can visit the wall any time Queens Center is open, and I’ll be there in person to meet strangers and collect stories on Saturday, October 26, and Sunday, November 3.
You’ll find the story wall on level 3. Hope to see you there!
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PS – My Oculus pop-up will be closed on October 26th and November 3rd while I’m in Queens—the rest of the regular schedule will continue as usual!
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My mom left me a voice message today, asking how I’ve been, if I’ll visit for Thanksgiving, asking to talk again soon. I don’t plan to ever call again. I don’t want to go back to that house. I don’t want to remember my own screams, the sweat, the knots in my hair, the indescribable pain & fear I felt.
I hate how much I miss them. I hate how guilty I feel for wanting to disappear from their lives. I hate that I’ll never have the family I wanted, & that I’ll never know how to truly be okay with that.
I hate that I’m not even sure if they miss me, if they really think about me, if they’re sorry, if they’re worried, if they still want me as their child.
I can never shake the feeling that I don’t know anything at all. That the love I’ve received in my life was never real.
I cut my sister off a few months ago. But I still talk about her to my new classmates & friends, it almost feels like I’m lying, as if she’s still in my life, like I’m hiding a big secret.
I feel like I’ve lost so much sometimes.
In the end, everything will turn out okay. I am working my way to happiness & the love of my friends & beautiful partner. I will always remember that despite my sadness, I am so, so lucky to have so much joy & affection in my life.
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I’m 25.
I look at some of these stories and think
“God, you’re just a kid.”
Then I look at other stories and think
“God, I’m just a kid.”
Maybe we’re all just kids?
What was your go-to snack as a kid?
Were you (fortunate enough) to have one?
I was. Mine was goldfish crackers & apple juice.
I’m going to go find some.
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For the longest time, I couldn’t help but feel cursed, powerless, and susceptible to unfortunate circumstance. My Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis at 14 rocked my world and sense of safety. To be so young and cognizant of your own mortality, of your body failing you earlier than it should is poignant. But I persevered. Went to my dream college and right before I was set to graduate, my world was rocked again by a brain tumor. Two rare brain diseases is just one sick cosmic joke. To make the joke even “funnier” I had just decided that same year that I want to be an oncologist. I loved working in a breast cancer research lab, I loved taking cancer biology and learning about the million and one ways our cells regulate themselves and communicate to halt tumors. But they fail and mine failed me. Still, I waited until after graduation to remove this “failure.” I didn’t know what coming out of surgery would look like. Especially when the tumor was in the part of my brain that controls language production. I had so much to say. I still have so much to say! My operation took place on June 13th, 2024 and it went beautifully. 🙂 My recovery was smooth and voice intact as ever. Tumor pathology revealed it to be benign and my 3-month follow-up MRI looks incredible. Were it not for my skull healing and the faint bald spot above my ear, you’d never know what I survived.
And despite how jarring this whole experience was, I know it will shape me into a wonderful physician one day. Like my doctor told me, one day I’ll be able to tell my patients, “I know what this feels like.” So here is to a potentially turbulent future, to a long road both as a provider and as a patient.
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📋 STORY UPDATE 🌻
The following five stories are part of an ongoing exchange between two people. The first story was submitted in early 2016 (or possibly 2015). In 2017, that first story appeared on one of my story walls, and the person it was about happened to see it—so she wrote a response. Two years later, in 2019, we received another update from the original writer.
Now, in 2024, they’ve both stopped by the gallery to share their latest update…
(Note: This is a longer series, so I’ve included transcriptions for each story in the later slides since they don’t fit in the caption.)
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October 5 2024
outgrowing my old self.
outgrowing old “ideas” that no longer work for me.
the letting go process can be beautiful & painful, all at once.
It’s hard to be present.
I’m trying to stay in gratitude.
I have so much to be grateful for.
Gratitude doesn’t have to erase my experience.
I hope that gratitude & “acting as if” will rewire those old, neural pathways.
I’m waking up everyday & asking for the willingness to show up & be present.
for me, being present is not picking up a drink, one day at a time.
Some days it’s one minute at a time.
I wake up everyday & try to connect to that power that keeps me sober and enables me to grow into something new.
and I’m never alone, even if I feel alone.
my feelings aren’t facts.
my feelings have never killed me.
feelings always pass.
time takes time.
I won’t always feel this way.
grateful for that fact.
grateful for today.
grateful to be sober in this moment.
grateful for the moment of clarity.
sobriety is a gift.
grateful.
thank you for my sobriety.
I can’t stay sober alone.
I love you.
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If the prompt is ‘what’s your story,’ then I have to confess—it’s not really mine. After my mum passed away 3 years ago, I have become obsessed with forgetting enough to survive, but remembering enough for her to survive. I have written 2 books to chronicle my childhood memories of her in mundane, painful detail, folded dozens of origami hearts, tattooed her favourite flower on my skin, and kept my hair dyed her favourite colour. Most of all, though, I’ve blurted out her story to anyone who will listen. And in the process, I’ve found countless mothers of all ages. I’ve found pieces of her in professors, bookshop coworkers, college roommates, and strangers like you, from my hometown in Adelaide (AUS) to a tiny island off the coast in Canada to NYC. And I realise—as I bake these mothers & daughters your favourite cookies, fold them dumplings, and write them letters like you used to put in my lunchbox as a child—that I carry you, Mum, with me everywhere I go. I don’t have to be scared of forgetting. This isn’t just my story, it’s hers, and it’s the story of everyone I’ve ever loved or been loved by.
THANK YOU FOR LOVING ME ♥.
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I’m thirteen years old and in 8th grade, but it feels like a lot has happened in my life. I play piano and saxophone, I instruct a karate class, and I’ve done many coding competitions (even one here in NYC) and I do much more. Growing up around this time, most kids have social media and phone games and what not. I didn’t really do that kind of stuff when I was a kid. In 5th grade, I excelled in school… Until one particular day. I sat with some classmates during lunch, and they asked me about my social media. I said that I did not know what social media was, and these kids started shaming me about it. I ignored it at first, but about a week later, it seemed the entire class was pestering me about it. They wouldn’t sit with me at lunch, work on projects with me, and some went as far as to say things like “He’s a robot,” “His life is nonexistent,” “What a nerd…” This threw me into a depression state. Suddenly, I couldn’t focus on my work, I had crying fits at home, and I couldn’t get them out of my head. However, my family all supported me through this time, and them and my teacher all pitched in to put a stop to it. I finished 5th grade with an average A in every class.
I have to go soon, so I’ll leave it at this:
If you are sitting in the same boat I was in during this time, never forget there are people who care about you and can help you overcome this point of your life. You can always ask for help, no matter the case.
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There’s another crackdown from the city on removing artists from Washington Square Park, and it breaks my heart to see the city doing this to the very people who make NYC so special.
I haven’t been to the park this year due to a packed schedule, but since 2012, I’ve set up story walls there on over 1,000 days. I’ve faced crackdowns before, but nothing like this.
Without the freedom to share stories in such a vibrant NYC space, who knows where the Strangers Project would be today. I was just about to bring the story wall back to WSP, but with these new policies, that might not be possible.
For over 10 years, the Strangers Project has been part of the rich tapestry of artists and performers that have made Washington Square Park a cultural hub for decades. These creatives have brought life, connection, and art to this iconic space.
Under recent policy changes, this tradition is being threatened. Increased enforcement now jeopardizes the very freedom that has allowed projects like this to thrive. Under these new policies, the Strangers Project as you know it would not have been possible at the park.
To help preserve the legacy of public art and keep Washington Square Park accessible to all, please take a moment to send a quick message in support of the artists and performers who bring creativity to this space. I’ve put together a template you can copy-paste to share your support. You can find it at strangersproject.com/park-action , or send me a message and and click “park action” and I’ll send you the link.
Together, we can urge the Parks Department to reconsider and protect the artists who make this space so special.
🔗 strangersproject.com/park-action
💌 DM me and I’ll send you the link
Explore thousands of stories and share your own at the Strangers Project popup in NYC.
What’s your story?
📍World Trade Center Oculus
🕑 Thursday-Sunday 2-6:30pm
🗓️ Now until further notice
💰 Free!
Content Note: This post contains sensitive reflections on eating disorders, body image struggles, and the emotional challenges of supporting a loved one through these issues. Please proceed with care if these topics might be difficult for you.
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Choking, gasping, dying in my arms. My little sister was struggling to take another breath and I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t…. I woke up gasping for air myself. Thank god it was a nightmare. But each day of the past two months my family (& my little sister) has been living hell.
We found out my younger sister has BED & bulimia, or more so we confirmed that she did after two years of wondering why she’d be obsessed with the treadmill & hiding food & running to the bathroom an hour after eating. The signs were all there. She was in so much pain. And I have so much guilt as an older sister.
I wasn’t always the kindest about my body around her, nor did I struggle with calorie counting/disordered eating. Chrissy Teagen once said she ate Cheeto dust and spat it out after, and I would do that (haha) and I’ve openly told my sisters about these struggles. But has this affected them? I’m sure it has. I failed her in that way. Now she stuffs herself and purges it all out every day.
We are trying to help, but she won’t see a therapist. She is also turning into a monster (Her ED is making her into a person I don’t recognize). She is 15, so there’s the teenage angst, but on top of that I’m sure she’s just in so much pain, which is why she is now verbally abusive to my family & I. Especially me. I don’t have authority like my parents, nor am I her friend, nor am I always soft-spoken like my middle sister. So I am at the other end of “fuck you, bitch, get the fuck out of my face you disgusting person,” and “I never want to talk to you!” when I try to approach her with any topic, and especially when I try to intervene with a ED moment. But I’m her older sister and I will never love her any less.
[transcription continued in comments]
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Sept 2024
Hi! I go to college nearby. I’m a senior. I feel old. Being a senior has made me start to think a lot about my time @ school and how I wish it was different. There wasn’t much I could do to make it different, but still.
So my brother died my freshman year of college. Which I guess I’ve been dancing around. It **sucked**. It’ll be the 4 year anniversary of when he died in a couple days. I feel like I always stop the room when I talk about it. Or even say it. So here goes nothing I guess.
My Brother Died
MY Brother Died
MY BROTHER DIED
MY BROTHER DIED!
HE DIED!
and it *sucked*
(sucks! present tense!)
Thanks for listening. (reading?)
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Hi.
I am 43. I feel like I missed out on life. I have a family. I have a job. However, do you ever just feel like you missed out? Like deep down… you blew it. I never knew what direction to go. I always followed where I was told. I never knew I could *want* things and not *just need*. I didn’t think I was allowed an opinion. I didn’t know I could do what I wanted.
Now I’m 43 and don’t know where to go. I’m halfway through and still feel 17. I can’t be the only one, right? Maybe knowing many others feel like this could be enough, maybe. Hopefully. I’ll keep going. Maybe I’ll learn to do the things that make me feel like *someone*. We’ll see. I sure hope so.
🙂
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My heart will only have this life to love during once.
I have given myself time to grieve the time I lost to my depression, and now waking up from this grief, I will let this heart love so immensely and fantastically, it will make up for all the time.
I will love people and trees and animals and oceans.
I will love my mugs and my blankets.
I will love other peoples’ mugs and blankets, because how beautiful it is to love something someone else loves.
I will love crow’s feet, a lifetime of smiles and laughter.
I will love stretch marks, a lifetime of growing and changing.
I will love empty paint bottles and zippers and doorknobs and all the other things that don’t get love on purpose.
I will love love and joy, and I will love sadness because it deserves to be nurtured.
I will wrap my anger in love too, and teach it to accept itself, teach it that I am not whole without it.
Love will flood every crack in my life.
There will be love oozing from every orifice in my body.
I will be so consumed by it that I will be a blueprint for others to learn how to love.
I already am. You are too.
I will thank this heart at the end of my life for letting me spend its love.
When it stops beating I hope the earth will come to love it too.
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I got so used to being alone that being loved feels
lonely too
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