They think I’m stupid, or, The lessons we learn from strangers.

“Do you like high school?”

“Not really,” my new friend replied.

My new friend was a 15-year old named Dylan. I met him on the train to London. Dylan looked much older than he was. He was a passionate heavy metal guitarist, but he could appreciate everything from classical music to jazz. He told me how metal was often stereotyped, and that there were several jazz-metal fusions I might be interested in. We got to talking about philosophy, something he was new to but knew he loved. He was, as far as I could tell, an uncommonly intelligent, or at least an uncommonly aware, young man.

Continuing on about high school, Dylan said, “It’s pretty hierarchical. There are the smart kids, the popular kids, everyone else, and then me. They think I’m stupid.”

‘They’ thought he was stupid because he had, in addition to ADD and OCD, a bad case of turrets syndrome. If you’re like me, you’ve probably heard of turrets through the media. It’s sometimes portrayed in Hollywood as an illness that causes people to loudly and randomly blurt out curse words. I’m sure this isn’t always the case, but for Dylan, it was.

“They think I’m stupid.”

Think about that statement, and about the assumptions we make about people. We take what we can from a person’s appearance, gender, age, race, or clothing, make a quick judgement about if they’re a threat or not (yay evolution) and move on. We have our own problems to deal with, and as long as these strangers are not one of them, then our business, or lack thereof, is concluded.

The problem with these assumptions is that they are, at best, a caricature of the real person. When Dylan first sat down, he told me as a courtesy that he had turrets. I feel ashamed at some of the things my mind leapt to when told me. It’s human to think these things, but that doesn’t make thinking them right.

My assumptions almost cost me this new friend, as the assumptions of Dylan’s classmates deprive them of the same kid I got to know. A talented musician, someone who thinks deeply and speaks honestly, someone who genuinely seemed like a good guy. Someone who is the exact opposite of stupid.

The tidal wave of opportunities to make new friends that I’ve lost along the way hasn’t hit me yet. I don’t think it ever will, because it wasn’t that I openly rejected these new connections so much as I simply wasn’t even aware of them.

Dylan reminded me of an amazing lesson that is exceedingly difficult to learn: to live consciously. This means being aware of our surroundings, and doing what we can to empathize and understand the situations of people around us. If we see a person who is homeless, we need to remember that they would almost certainly do anything not to be. If we see a person who snaps at someone else, we need to remember that that person might be having an awful day and that they deserve some slack. And if we see a person with turrets, we need to remember that they are people before they are someone with turrets. Everyone I’ve listed is a person, just like us, all deserving of dignity and respect, and, if you care to give it and they care to accept, friendship.

Sure, meeting strangers can be weird. So is combining heavy metal and jazz. But regardless of whether you keep in contact or like the music, almost certainly one thing is true: you’re better off having had the experience.

Editor’s note: If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello. Stories about me on systems of transportation will probably stop coming soon, so your ideas would be lovely.