It’s incredible that we are sharing this same space, that we are here, present at the same time. I see you. And perhaps, you see me. But I don’t know you. And you don’t know me…

I didn’t see what you had for breakfast this morning. It would be weird if I did, and even weirder if I knew that you tripped on your striped shoelaces on your way out the door. I won’t ever know those things about you. I won’t know your thoughts as you cast a glance at your reflection in the mirror as you go to brush your teeth. I won’t even see that chip you’re still debating about getting fixed, right up there on the side. I only see you for a moment, but I still see you.

Maybe I might notice that you have cat hair on your jeans. Maybe I notice that you shift uncomfortably in your seat and run your fingers through your hair; you are nervous. But I will never know that your mother’s cat’s name is Freya, or that today is your first day wearing that new shirt your s/o got you, and you’d hate to tell them that it’s slightly too itchy and slightly too tight.

Let’s say that I do look over your outfit; maybe I notice your phone, the type of pens you use, what you eat for lunch. Maybe I come to conclusions about you that are untrue, and maybe I’ve guessed correctly. Maybe we see each other every day and never say a word. Maybe we meet once on the bus and share a glance of acknowledgment.

Acknowledgement—what am I acknowledging? Your existence in the world or your existence in my world?

I’ve seen so many people in my four years on campus and it’s incredible that the few I actually have met, talked to, and have broken the wall between, I became friends with. These people I know, that I have acknowledged, would have still existed but not in the same way they do to me, had I not opened my mouth or extended my hand.

How many people do we see every day and do not know? And why is it sometimes almost frightening when a stranger becomes real to us?

With strangers, we can feel safe. I know that seems like a contradiction, but it’s true. We don’t know them, they don’t know us, and we can be whoever we want around them. We don’t have to let them know who we are, don’t have to show them our vulnerabilities or give them our name. And they don’t have to, either. I think there can be a bit of power in that, a shield which protects us from letting the people we see every day see too much of us.

But there is so much strength in taking down that shield and letting people in. It makes us vulnerable. It makes other people see us and unconsciously acknowledge us in their own lives. Suddenly, they know our names. They might now know what we had for breakfast. Maybe they know the name of our mother’s cat.

They might think we’re weird. They might think we’re funny or cool. Maybe talking to them, connecting with them, changes our life. Maybe it doesn’t. They might never see us again, or talk to us at all.

Will finally talking to someone we see every day and don't know really matter in the grand scheme of our entire lives? Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s impossible to tell who, through the throng of people we meet every day, might one day become our friend.

It is certain, however, that for that one moment, in a shared space and shared time, we are real to each other. We exist. And we see each other as human beings, each with our own path, our own lives, and our own striped shoelaces we trip over every morning as we step outside our door.