​​​​Andrew Vontz is the founder of ​​​One Real Voice​​​, a podcast coaching and strategy company. He hosts the ​​“Choose the Hard Way” ​​​podcast​​​ and writes the ​​​Substack​​​ of the same name.​​​​ I wore a shimmering, faux snakeskin, mid-calf-length, silver-and-black cape to the Ozzy Osbourne interview I did for Mean, a style and culture magazine in Los Angeles. It was 2005, “The Osbournes” was the most popular show on MTV, and Ozzy was about to release a retrospective box set (of compact discs). After a childhood spent listening to Black Sabbath and teen years spent playing Sabbath-inspired hardcore in a high school band, I figured wearing the cape was only appropriate.

I knocked on a cartoonishly large, Gothic wooden door, expecting an assistant, publicist or manager to answer. So I was taken aback when Ozzy himself appeared, shook my hand, smiled and complimented my cape.

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He invited me inside and walked me to the living room, where we sat down and he asked how I took my tea. Then he made it for both of us. When he returned with the tea, he kept chatting with me and, to my surprise, asked me questions about myself.

As you might guess, famous people are often charming, and many have an ability to win the favor of people they hope to influence. This wasn’t that. Ozzy was kind and present, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in our conversation, like an actual nice person.

The more engaged he was, the more nervous I became. I had done dozens of sit-downs with celebrities, and I could feel the clock ticking. If we didn’t start the interview, I was afraid I would leave empty-handed.

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My fears were unfounded. Ozzy talked to me about his workout ​​regimen​​​​ ​​(two hours a day, including cardio on a stationary bike and 550 crunches), his as yet unwritten memoir and his first encounter with the mockumentary “This Is Spinal Tap,” which he described as a “documentary.”

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“​Black Sabbath, after I departed, bought a Stonehenge twice as big as the real Stonehenge, and it took them three days to get it into the f—ing venue,” he said. “The overtime bill was a joke. Getting lost on the way to the stage is what I would do.”

When we got to the end of the interview, I gathered my tape recorder and notebook to leave. But Ozzy asked if I would mind hanging out and listening to tracks from the box set. We went to his listening room, and he hit play.

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This guy — who was the very best in the world at what he did, who was playing me some of the most classic metal tracks of all time, which he himself had created — then asked me what I thought about his work. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. Every time I thought we were done, he would play another track, and we kept hanging out until finally I went home.

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We live in an era in which wealth and fame seem to be prized as the ultimate ends in life. We see these ends glorified as a hammer that can ​be ​used to smash opposing voices and control how other people perceive you.

That day, Ozzy embodied an alternate way of wielding wealth, fame and power: Be interested in other people. Be present. Be kind.

Every moment we interact with another person, in real life or online, is an opportunity to put this way of being into action, to bring happiness to other people and to ourselves.