CTA Clark/Lake Station | Photo by Piper Punches
I met a man on the train today.
No, not like that. It’s not what you think. It wasn’t a romantic connection, but it was a tangible human connection; something that’s missing more and more from our daily lives.
On this train, the Blue Line running out of downtown Chicago to the suburbs, I sat quietly. Every once in a while, I took out my phone to scroll through Instagram or find out what was happening in the world of Yahoo! News, but it was boring and the train was loud. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, but felt vulnerable sitting with my eyes closed, surrounded by strangers. Not that anyone would care what I was doing. No one was looking at me. Everyone was self-absorbed in their books, music, television shows, and podcasts. Some were less self-conscious than me and napped on the train.
But then there was this man.
He had asked me earlier if I wanted his seat so I didn’t have to stand, but I told him it was okay. I didn’t feel right taking his seat and besides my daughter and her friend were standing too. I couldn’t sit if they were standing. It’s a parent thing.
Eventually I sat down when enough seats emptied so all of us could sit. I ended up sitting next to the man who had offered his seat earlier. Again, no one spoke. We just sat stoic and bounced along to the rhythm of the train.
I don’t remember what the man said to me. How he began the conversation, but it’s didn’t surprise me when he spoke to me. Earlier in the ride he asked another rider about a book he was reading and to tell him what it was about. I had smiled watching the interaction between the two of them because the man who was reading wasn’t upset about being interrupted. Instead, he eagerly talked about his book until his stop.
So, when the man turned to me and started talking, I expected it. I welcomed it actually. I think it’s important to mention that this man wasn’t old and nosy, a person who didn’t have a newspaper or smartphone to pass the time. He was young and curious. He did have a phone tucked in his pocket that he only pulled out to answer a phone call from his mom.
People tolerate public transit because it’s a convenient way to get from point A to B, but it’s not a place people look to to form human connections. Yet, on the Blue Line train on a rainy Saturday afternoon coming out of downtown Chicago, that’s exactly what happened. Even my daughter, who was giggling and making fun of me for talking to this stranger, ended up being a willing part of the conversation too.
I don’t know this man’s name, but here’s what I learned about him between the Damen and Rosemont stops:
His “lady†worked at the mall in Rosemont and he wasn’t worried about getting wet from the rain shower because she was picking him up curbside.
He was a hiker and had climbed to the top of Mount Mitchell in North Carolina. The Appalachian Mountains were beautiful and breathtaking, he had said. North Carolina was one of his favorite places.
When I mentioned how much I loved the wide-open west, he said he’d never been farther than Colorado, but he wanted to die in Montana – on a horse, nonetheless, but, of course, he wanted to live for a long time in the west’s peacefulness before he died. I told him I thought that sounded like a good idea and reiterated he had many years before he’d find himself on that horse.
He had a passion for nature, but not a clue about geography. He thought the Hoover Dam was in Arizona, that the Mojave Desert touched Colorado, and that Montana had an ocean. The woman sitting across from us shook her head and suggested he buy a map before he takes a road trip out west. I can’t say I didn’t agree with her.
From me he learned that St. Louis was in Missouri not Minnesota (that geography thing again), about toasted ravioli, and that he really should buy a map when he ventured west. He said he’d use his phone’s navigation system, but I told him it’s useless in the desert and mountains because service is sketchy. He should take the woman’s advice and buy that map.
When the train arrived at the Rosemont station, we parted ways and said it was nice talking to each other. You know what? That wasn’t just something I said to end the conversation. I really meant it.
How often throughout the day do we get to know each other beyond a casual nod of hello or goodbye? How often do we put our phones away and our wariness of a strange conversation off to the side to make a connection?
I’m so happy I met this person whose name I don’t know and never will. I like it like that. It was a fleeting connection that reminded me we can connect in small ways that teach us about each other and help us learn a little more about ourselves. It was a gentle nudge reminding me that sometimes it’s okay to talk to strangers.
