Table for 51 is such an intimate and all-embracing journey. What inspired you to take this cross-country trip, and why was it important to document it?

On a personal level, I had never traveled across the U.S. before. As a child, I grew up with parents who were born in Seattle, Washington but were interned during World War II because of their Japanese heritage. That left a lasting imprint on my family. I inherited the belief that we might not be welcome everywhere in this country, and I wanted to challenge and rewrite that narrative for myself.

On a larger scale, I saw how, as a nation, we’d retreated into bubbles—physically due to COVID and emotionally due to political and racial divisions. I wanted to prove that we could sit across from anyone, share a meal, and connect on a human level, regardless of background or belief. It’s those human-to-human connections that bridge divides and remind us of our shared humanity. Documenting this journey felt important because it’s a message I believe the world—and I—needed to hear.

Your father’s fear of being unwelcome because of your Asian heritage was a powerful motivator. How did that shape the lens through which you approached each conversation?

I decided to approach the entire experience with the belief that I was welcome everywhere!

You share your own adoption story—abandoned in Seoul and raised by Japanese American parents. How has that shaped your sense of identity and belonging over the years?

As a child, I just wanted to blend in—to be seen as American, not as “different.” My parents were born and raised in the United States and, aside from a few trips to Vancouver, BC, they had never left the country. While they were Japanese American, they didn’t carry much of the Japanese culture into our home, and there was no connection to Korean culture either.

Looking back, I realize I grew up without a strong cultural anchor, which left me with a sense of not fully belonging anywhere. I didn’t feel rooted in a particular heritage or community, and for a long time, that shaped how I saw myself.

It wasn’t until adulthood, and especially through traveling across the U.S. for this project, that I began to truly understand and accept my identity. Today, I identify as Korean American, but not necessarily through the lens of cultural traditions. Instead, I identify as a human being—one who is deeply curious, open-hearted, and committed to connecting with people wherever I go. My identity has become less about labels and more about how I show up in the world, how I love, and how I engage with others.

I'm still getting to know myself...and I'm really liking who I am and even more who I'm becoming, and I love that it has nothing to do with the way I look, the color of my skin. or the shape of my eyes.

You met with 50 people across all 50 states. Was there a particular encounter that profoundly shifted your perspective on connection or belonging?

I wish I could point to just one encounter, because I get asked this question often—but honestly, it was the collective experience that made the biggest impact on me.

While I started this project seeking connection, what struck me most was the incredible difference I found across the country. Yet, as different as each person was—their background, beliefs, and life circumstances—it often felt like I was sitting across from one teacher, just with a different voice and a new face each time.

Every conversation revealed a unique perspective, but together they formed a shared human experience. It reminded me that while we may appear different on the surface, there’s a common thread running through all of us. It was the collective wisdom, rather than a single encounter, that truly shifted how I see connection and belonging.

Along this journey, you made the life-changing decision to end your 26-year marriage. Was there a specific conversation or moment that gave you the clarity or courage to take that step?

There wasn’t one single conversation that led me to my decision—it was a series of conversations that gradually helped me uncover my truth. Listening to the stories of so many people, especially women who had gone through divorce and rebuilt their lives from the ground up, gave me courage. These women—many of them complete strangers—showed me that when one door closes, another truly does open.

That said, there was one conversation that stood out. In Colorado, I met a woman named Connie. I opened up to her about my marriage struggles and my fears around dating again, especially with all the physical scars I now carry from cancer treatments and hip replacements. I remember asking her, “How will I explain my body to someone new?” And she said something I’ll never forget:

“If you meet the right man, you’ll never have to explain.”

That one sentence gave me a deep sense of peace and strength moving forward.

How did this journey help you redefine what “belonging” means—not just in the world, but within yourself?

I realized belonging is less about external validation and more about self-acceptance. I learned to create a table within myself—a space where I no longer needed permission to show up fully as I am. Once I did that, the external world mirrored it back to me. I found belonging in conversations, in quiet moments on the road, and ultimately in my own heart.

What did you learn about resilience—not just in your own story, but through the stories of the people you met?

Resilience isn’t always loud or heroic—it’s often quiet, daily acts of courage. I met people who survived grief, systemic injustice, loss, and reinvention, yet continued to show up for life. Their stories reminded me that resilience is about bending without breaking, and sometimes, about rewriting the rules entirely.

Looking back, how do you think your father would feel about the journey you embarked on to challenge his fears?

I believe he’d be proud and deeply touched by this journey. While his fear was understandable and rooted in his own experiences, I don’t think he’d want it to define the story. I went out into the world with openness, and what I discovered was kindness, curiosity, and humanity in places where fear might have expected otherwise.

In many ways, I felt like he was with me every step of the way. His second career was as an instructor for the deaf at a college, and throughout my travels, I kept noticing signs for schools for the deaf—places that most people wouldn’t typically notice or encounter. To me, those signs felt like little reminders from him, subtle affirmations that he was walking alongside me on this journey.

If you could sit down for one more meal with someone from this journey, who would it be and why?

Oh boy – that’s a loaded question! I can only pick one? Maybe Jennifer in Wisconsin – because I didn’t have enough time with her. I was traveling through several states in a short amount of time when we met – and I would love to have more time to get to know her. I feel our time was cut short!

What do you hope readers take away from Table for 51, especially those struggling with their own sense of belonging or facing big life transitions?

I hope readers walk away knowing they’re not alone in their search for belonging. I want them to feel empowered to start new conversations, take bold steps, and create connections where they may have once seen only barriers. Whether you’re navigating change, heartbreak, or reinvention, there is always an opportunity to flip the box and reimagine what’s possible.

If you could describe your journey in three words, what would they be?

Vulnerable. Transformational. Brave.

About Table for 51:

Author Shari Leid—abandoned in a cardboard box with no identifying information in Seoul, South Korea, and adopted by Japanese American parents—embarks on a remarkable journey across the U.S. to challenge her father’s fears of being unwelcome because of their Asian faces.

In Table for 51, Shari meets strangers and reconnects with people from her own past, sharing a meal in every state. From bustling city cafés to peaceful countryside tables, each encounter reveals the power of human connection.

Through these fifty heartfelt conversations, Shari discovers the magic of belonging and the courage to embrace change, ultimately ending her turbulent twenty-six-year marriage.

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