I didn't necessarily want to be famous growing up, but I knew I

Host: The afternoon sun filtered through the café window, casting a warm glow over the worn tables and soft chairs. Outside, the world hummed with the usual rush of city life, but inside, there was a sense of calm. Jack and Jeeny sat near the window, sipping their coffee, the soft chatter of other patrons in the background blending into the quiet space between them. Jeeny, always searching for a new angle in a conversation, broke the silence first.

Jeeny: “I came across something that made me think about how people view fame. Nate Berkus once said, ‘I didn’t necessarily want to be famous growing up, but I knew I would be a good famous person because I’m not offended if somebody comes up to me and knows things about me and wants to engage me in a conversation.’” She paused, looking at Jack with a smile that was both curious and knowing. “What do you think about that? Do you think fame is something you can accept without letting it affect who you are?”

Jack: He let out a small laugh, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. “I don’t know, Jeeny. I mean, fame is a strange thing, right? People think they want it, but when it hits, it’s overwhelming. Privacy goes out the window, and you’re constantly in the spotlight. I get what Berkus is saying, though. Some people choose to handle fame with grace. They don’t get all worked up when someone knows their name or wants a photo. But is that really about being a good famous person? Or is it about just being okay with the attention? I think fame, for the most part, changes people. You can’t stay the same when everyone’s watching.”

Host: The soft hum of the café felt like the world moving at a slower pace, the moment stretching between them. Jack’s words were full of skepticism, but Jeeny’s expression was thoughtful, almost reflective.

Jeeny: “But that’s the thing, Jack. Nate Berkus is acknowledging that fame isn’t about the attention—it’s about engagement. It’s about being open to people, letting them approach you without feeling like they’re invading your space. I think that’s a huge part of being good at fame, the ability to connect with others without letting it overwhelm you. Most people see fame as something that takes, that demands privacy and boundaries, but maybe it’s more about choosing how you respond to it.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to something more personal. “It’s about being able to hold your ground and still remain yourself when everything around you is trying to pull you into something else.”

Jack: He tilted his head, considering her words. “I don’t disagree with you, Jeeny. It’s just... fame has a way of distorting things. It makes people treat you like an object instead of a person. People come up to you because they know you, but you don’t know them at all. You start to feel like you’re being observed, not truly seen. That’s why I think it’s hard to stay grounded in it. Sure, you can be open, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still dealing with the fact that everyone has a perception of you, one you didn’t create.”

Jeeny: “But maybe that’s exactly why it’s so important to handle fame well—to own it, even when people project their ideas onto you. Nate’s not saying it’s easy, but he’s saying it’s possible to remain a good person through it all. He’s saying that if you can stay authentic—be willing to engage, be okay with people knowing things about you—you can find some peace within the chaos. It’s not about the fame changing you; it’s about how you choose to let it affect you.”

Host: The light outside dimmed slightly, as if the world outside was listening in. Jeeny’s words hung in the air, but Jack’s expression had softened, his usual cynicism giving way to something like curiosity.

Jack: “I guess there’s something admirable about that. Choosing to engage rather than shut people out. It takes a certain confidence, doesn’t it? Knowing who you are, even when the world wants to know everything about you. It’s a fine line, though. When you’re famous, you’re not just yourself anymore. You’re a version of yourself that’s been touched by other people’s expectations, their opinions. And that can get dangerous, can’t it?”

Jeeny: “It’s a balancing act, for sure,” she said, her voice gentle, but with an edge of certainty. “But maybe that’s the key to being a good famous person. It’s not about being immune to what people think of you. It’s about embracing the attention without letting it define you. Engaging without losing yourself in the process. Fame doesn’t have to change who you are if you don’t let it. You can still be kind, still be human, and still stay grounded. Maybe that’s why Nate Berkus said he’d be a ‘good’ famous person—because he understands that being open to others is the real secret to handling it.”

Host: The quiet between them settled, like a moment of mutual understanding hanging in the air. The world outside seemed to pause, as if agreeing with their conversation, and for a moment, the clinking of cups and the soft background noise of the café were the only sounds left.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right, Jeeny. Maybe it’s not about rejecting fame, but about knowing when to give and when to take a step back. It’s about keeping your humanity, even when the world’s trying to turn you into something else. I guess that’s what would make someone a good famous person—staying true to who you are, no matter how many eyes are watching.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she said softly, the warmth in her voice matching the last golden light of the evening. “It’s about being authentic in a world that tries to mold you into something else. Fame doesn’t have to change who you are, but it does challenge you to decide who you want to be, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

Host: The night had fallen, and the shadows in the café deepened, the soft light from the streetlamps casting a quiet glow on the world outside. Jack and Jeeny sat in comfortable silence now, the weight of their conversation lingering. Perhaps fame, in all its complexities, wasn’t about running from the spotlight—it was about knowing how to hold onto yourself when everything around you was changing.