Look after your parents, all. Given the state of the world and the intentional tearing down of health care and dignity, it&#x27;s better if you can take care of them yourself.One of our pipe dreams is to save up enough money to buy a little homestead (take that phrase with a grain of salt) somewhere, still within our country but with the space and ability to build a cottage or two to house our parents, so they can live out their retirement somewhere nice and without relying on an overworked and underpaid system.

I wonder if we don’t all hope one day we have the privilege to be the Taxi Driver, and obtain such grace as the Old Lady.

Great story, this got me in the feels. A wonderful message.

Kent Nerburn is an excellent writer. Highly recommend &quot;Neither Dog Nor Wolf&quot;.

I remember the last one for me, it might&#x27;ve also been the first. It&#x27;s longer than this but had me tearing up intermittently for at least 6 weeks.What Happened to LeeApril 2020<a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=22878136" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=22878136</a>

This one was brutal as well<a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=33283652" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=33283652</a>

Word. I cannot remember the last HN article that had me in tears.

I didn&#x27;t expect to be haulin&#x27; buckets to HN today.

Such a beautiful story in a few sentences. I think everyone can relate and simultaneously find how unique this experience was. 
Thanks for sharing, it adds life in the middle of arid subjects I can be caught into.

Hey, me too, must be some smoke or fumes or something in the air.

Such a nice and touching story... now excuse me while I go and clean something that got into my eye.

It was such a good story I was sure I&#x27;d read it before on here and well worth another read

Reposts are fine after a year or so, and this was a great one. Thanks!

Thanks. I searched HN for the link and nothing turned up. Should have searched for the title I guess. But the good thing is there are always some who missed it.. including me.

Ah thanks! Macroexpanded:The Cab Ride I&#x27;ll Never Forget - <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=3918783" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=3918783</a> - May 2012 (188 comments)The URL of that one (<a href="http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.zenmoments.org&#x2F;the-cab-ride-ill-never-forget&#x2F;" rel="nofollow">http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.zenmoments.org&#x2F;the-cab-ride-ill-never-forget&#x2F;</a>) includes more background info, including the book this piece was published in.

Previous discussion - <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=3918783" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=3918783</a>

This comment got me thinking.One thing I enjoyed about early Covid was the ‘blitz spirit’ that occurred before it got all politicized.I’d like to recapture that without the doom.

I take great care to stay vigilant for these opportunities. Recently, I found myself in a sadness for the lack of changes I was capable of making to our life’s systemic dysfunctions - be it natural or artificial - and found my time was much better spent improving the lives around me directly, individually or in small groups.I’ve long had the philosophy that the world has enough problems and that it’s not my place to add to them, but this philosophy also gave me a motivation to move mountains for solutions - and would be upset when I inevitably couldn’t. I think this perspective has been the best middle ground between what I’m capable of, and what I want to accomplish.

There are times when life gives us the opportunity to be that guy; just not exactly in the same way. Pay attention, it has and it will happen.

Well written, but it reads like a fiction based on a real story.

It’s really not. The message is true and important, but the writing itself is saccharine and overly sentimental. I came away knowing very little about the driver and his passenger. The details that were provided   were flat played into tired and hackneyed tropes.

A mastery in short story writing. I had to call my mum immediately after finishing it.

We have to reckon with the fact that even surrounded by friends and family, at the moment our life finally ends we are alone inside our own mind. Even if it is scary, we can take solace in the fact that it is a fleeting moment.Buddhism helps us learn healthy detachment. This can be detachment from things, people and even ourselves; the healthy part being the balance that still allows us to appreciate and love them, even knowing one day we must lose them. Pushing those things away to protect ourselves from the pain of loss is unhealthy. Remember the middle way.In The Book of Joy the Dalai Lama states that he approaches meditation as a preparation to die well. I don’t know if that’s what you meant by “prepare for it every day” but what you said reminded me of all this.

Prepare for it now and everyday. Maybe it won’t be as terrifying when it comes.

End of life is terrifying... Especially the idea of facing it alone, with all your friends and family long gone (or, worse yet, having been abandoned), is heartbreaking.

In a sense, there are no small acts of kindness.  They are all great.

Small acts of kindness are more than enough to make someone else’s day. They sometimes even change lives. I hope this story reminds people that this is not just an empty platitude.

I’ve read your HN comments before and replied to one within the last month. Glad you’re here, Jesus.

Loved the idea of &quot;zombie jesus christ&quot;. Ask and you shall receive: <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;app.88stacks.com&#x2F;c&#x2F;zombie-jesus-christ" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;app.88stacks.com&#x2F;c&#x2F;zombie-jesus-christ</a>

You’d like Arthur Koestler’s “Roots of Coincidence”, if you haven’t already read it.I’d wave this away as metaphysical waffle if I also hadn’t had a few too many almost ordained seeming moments. Right place, right time sort of thing, what on earth are you doing in this cornfield miles from anywhere at 3am, never mind me?

I drove a taxi for about 3.5 years. Mostly it was random people going places. Taxi driving is not the most intellectually stimulating job, so I amused myself by talking to my passengers to figure out if they had anything to teach me. After a few shifts I became aware of a Metaphysical Matching Algorithm, where I was being sent specific passengers for reasons more than just &#x27;transportation&#x27;.I&#x27;m still in contact with a woman I met on my 8th shift. She txt&#x27;d me for a ride ~4 days after her taxi ride. I remembered her, but couldn&#x27;t figure out why she&#x27;d decided to call me back: &#x27;I talk to everyone, but I didn&#x27;t talk to them&#x27;. On her follow up ride she reminded me of the little informative txt message I&#x27;d sent them after I&#x27;d driven away, and how that little act motivated her to reach out to me when she needed to go to the store for a suitcase. She eventually made a short film that was inspired by how we met. The specific details are all wrong, which is why it&#x27;s only &quot;inspired by a true story&quot;, lol. The series of passengers that led me to my future-friend was 1. passenger going home from the hospital in central Phoenix [delay], 2. lady going home to Mesa [transfer fare - 15 miles], 3. Grandma going to the pharmacy [delay], then I got my &#x27;appointment&#x27; to meet my future-friend in the metropolitan area&#x27;s far southeast corner.Sometimes my random questions revealed that my passenger had interesting experiences, such as the fellow who&#x27;d spent a lot of time on the secret bases in Nevada: <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=33640535" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=33640535</a> (My username was inspired by K5 user &quot;Zombie Jesus Christ&quot;, whom I eventually visited in jail in California. Followup comment in this thread tells of my username&#x27;s origin story.)I&#x27;ve commented before about the passenger I bailed out of jail. I distinctly remember the night I met him at the convenience store at Cave Creek &amp; Bell Rd: &quot;Are you available?&quot; &quot;Sure, hop in.&quot; He&#x27;d come to Arizona on a technology contract with a big bank, but the contract was canceled. Then his van and everything he owned got stolen. I don&#x27;t remember the series of fares that led me to be in exactly his location that night... <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=34157865" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;news.ycombinator.com&#x2F;item?id=34157865</a>Lots of stories like this. One passenger leads to the next. When I was between passengers sometimes I followed my intuitions trying to figure out where I&#x27;d find my next passenger. I tried to talk to everyone: everyone has a story &amp; I tried to figure out if they had something I thought interesting. Sometimes I had the sense that I had &#x27;appointments&#x27;, othertimes I had the sense that there was no one else to meet that day.One of my standard lines of inquiry for couples, or people who mentioned their relationship, was &#x27;how did you meet?&#x27; Sometimes it was a boring story (&quot;met in elementary school&quot;), sometimes intuition made their improbable connection possible.(Intuition is when we do things that turn out well, without having a well-formed logical reason for doing so: <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.nytimes.com&#x2F;2018&#x2F;07&#x2F;17&#x2F;well&#x2F;intuition-gut-instinct-psychology-midlife-crisis.html" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.nytimes.com&#x2F;2018&#x2F;07&#x2F;17&#x2F;well&#x2F;intuition-gut-instin...</a> )One of my better stories was &quot;Passenger Rescue&quot; and &quot;Passenger Rescue, Pt 2&quot;: <a href="http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.taxiwars.org&#x2F;2012&#x2F;07&#x2F;passenger-rescue.html" rel="nofollow">http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.taxiwars.org&#x2F;2012&#x2F;07&#x2F;passenger-rescue.html</a> &#x2F; <a href="http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.taxiwars.org&#x2F;2012&#x2F;08&#x2F;passenger-rescue-pt-2.html" rel="nofollow">http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.taxiwars.org&#x2F;2012&#x2F;08&#x2F;passenger-rescue-pt-2.html</a> (originally these were diaries on Kuro5hin.org [RIP]):<pre><code> When we got back to his father&#x27;s apartment 
 complex my passenger asked, 
 &quot;What&#x27;s the fare?&quot; 
 &quot;This one&#x27;s on me.&quot;</code></pre>

Sometimes people really are the best, and for a moment I get to feel immensely grateful and proud to be part of humanity.

My grandfather was a taxi cab driver in New York City during the 60s and 70s. After his third mugging, he changed jobs. I guess we each get different experiences.

Not long ago I drove my dad around his old neighborhood. Was very similarly touching.

Wow! Really enjoyed reading it. From the title, I thought it&#x27;d be someone&#x27;s Uber ride rant - overcharged etc. But, it turned out to be exact opposite - an emotional one. I also discovered the writer is an author and not just a blogger.So far, I&#x27;ve read only success stories. I think I can delve into reading similar stories. There a recommendation on this page - &quot;Neither Dog Nor Wolf&quot;; Maybe, I can start with that one.

Clicks on link with bold thoughts of ‘I can handle anything’Nope. The tears came for sure.

I hitchhiked a bit during my college days, so I feel a moral obligation to pick up others if I can. Doesn’t seem to happen as often as it used though.Worst that happened to me was a very smelly drunk..

I&#x27;ve been a hitchhiker and I&#x27;ve picked up hitchhikers though not in years as they&#x27;re less common today where I live and I&#x27;ve been a parent and I won&#x27;t pick up hitchhikers with my kids in the car. So while I was going to say &quot;I don&#x27;t think there&#x27;s much risk&quot; I guess I must admit I do acknowledge some risk involved, given that I won&#x27;t do it with my kids aboard.But overall hitchhikers are people just like you and me, the difference being they haven&#x27;t got a car, obviously. I figure the worst that would happen is I&#x27;m robbed and my car stolen, which would stink but the risk is infinitesimal and the benefit I perceive in helping out my fellow human is worth it to me. Notably, I am male; my calculous would likely be different if I were female.There&#x27;s also the typical caveat of minding one&#x27;s common sense &amp; gut. If someone looks like a basket case I&#x27;m unlikely to pick them up, or if it&#x27;s an odd hour&#x2F;past dark, the area is remote etc. But someone on an busy onramp to I-40 during daytime, why not?

I&#x27;ve experienced both sides, and been more afraid as a hitchhiker than as the driver, mostly from terrible driving vs. any direct bodily threat. I&#x27;m a large male too, though maybe always-connected &amp; cell phones would actually make this safer for women?

While hitchhiking, I was once picked up by a mother with her young children in the backseat. It seemed odd even to me that she would take such a risk with a stranger, but in the course of the drive she explained that her eldest daughter was a serial hitchhiker and that it gave her peace of mind to provide the sort of positive encounters that she hoped her daughter would experience.

I regularly pick people up, but wouldn’t recommend it unless you’ve really given it thought.For me - I’m a 6’2” bearded dude. I drive a Jeep and almost never have the doors or top on it in the summer. I’m also armed and have had some training.Being in an open vehicle means that anyone around me in traffic can see what’s going on, so I’m reasonably confident a hitchhiker isn’t going to try to take me hostage or directly threaten me with a weapon. It also couldn’t be any better ventilated, so I’m able to pick people up whose “odor” would others make it difficult to get a ride.I’ve probably picked up 100 or more hitchhikers at this point. I’ve had a couple that were obviously unhinged, more than a few people who were drunk or stoned to the point they had no business in public, and a surprising number of people who I would have never expected to take me up on my offer of a ride.One of my favorite memories of this is when I found myself in Charlottesville, VA at about 1am, wide awake, in a growing snowstorm with nothing to do. My Jeep didn’t have doors or a top even though it was ~10ºF out. There was a little over a foot of snow on the ground, and the city buses had stopped as a result. I ended up driving back and forth all over downtown as the bars closed, taking college kids back to their homes when I found them stumbling through the snow trying walk back.I often wonder how many of them woke up the next day questioning their own sanity. “How did I get home last night? I remember walking, then got a ride in a Go-Kart… Wait a sec - was that Hagrid driving!?”

You just need to be prepared to out crazy whatever you encounter. My plan, if it ever went sideways, was to pin the throttle and take my hands off the wheel. Fortunately it never came to that.

Are you not scared of picking people up? I would love to help others, but I&#x27;ve always been worried that it could go poorly.

years ago, i picked up a couple of very young and beautiful women in downtown Denver hitchhiking up to Winter Park. They were from Chile, barely spoke English, and worked at the resort for the season. I asked them to promise me they&#x27;d never hitchhike again from where i picked them up. I had no interest in seeing their photos&#x2F;bodybags on the news.

&gt; like how peaches&#x2F;strawberries&#x2F;etc can tickle the inside of your mouth, but much strongerThis is a food allergy. It&#x27;s not &quot;normal&quot; for food to cause tingling or tickling.

I did this once while returning from a road trip from Boston to the northern tip of New Hampshire and back. Younger and dumber?I picked up some 50+ year old man with very long brown hair (down to his butt). He was definitely an outsider. Told me stories, how the FBI interrogated him once for having a book (I forget which one). How he used to work as a guard at the local jail, then as a cook at a castle-like hotel (both in the area). How his stress free life and eating local herbs&#x2F;forest plants has prevented his hair from graying. Talked about his tiny, simple house with two rooms. He told me about American ginseng (illegal to harvest btw), and we pulled off the side of the road to find some. The plant made part of my lips swell a bit. Had that &quot;lots of enzymes&quot; flavor (like how peaches&#x2F;strawberries&#x2F;etc can tickle the inside of your mouth, but much stronger).He said he had an wife in Kentucky that he hadn&#x27;t finished divorcing, and then he asked me to drive him all the way back to Boston. He didn&#x27;t even request to stop by his house. I let him out in downtown and he walked off into the night, presumably towards the airport.Edit: oh yeah, i forgot that craziest part. He said people have been lnyched during his time living there. (Sorry if this is too dark, but all things considered, its hard to believe everything he said)

I have been fortunate enough (privileged enough?) to feel comfortable picking up hitchhikers (or simply people walking along the road) over the years, and while most aren&#x27;t particularly noteworthy, a few have been rough.One teenage boy had just been thrown out of his house, with nothing other than a torn shirt and shorts, by his drunk father. I drove him to his girlfriend&#x27;s place.One desperate father had taken a bus as far as he could, but still had miles to walk to get to his mother&#x27;s place and back home before his kids would wake up in the morning.I wrote about those and my other recollections a while back[1], but none as memorable as this piece.[1]: <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;opposite-lock.com&#x2F;topic&#x2F;45077&#x2F;hitchhikers-over-the-years" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;opposite-lock.com&#x2F;topic&#x2F;45077&#x2F;hitchhikers-over-the-y...</a>

Wonderful. Thank you for sharing. Such acts of selfless kindness are what make life beautiful. They enrich everyone - the giver, the receiver and all those who witness such acts.

I enjoyed reading this. She was fortunate to have you in her life.

College application essay is equally good!

I&#x27;m glad someone shares the sentiment.&quot;Facebook chain letter&quot; is a good descriptor -- I was thinking &quot;college application essay&quot;.

Fictionalized doesn&#x27;t mean the entire story is fake, it&#x27;s that fictional elements were added to it.While I believe he was a cabbie, and took someone to hospice at some point, I think that&#x27;s as far as the truth goes. For starters, little old ladies don&#x27;t call cabs at 2:30AM to go to a hospice facility.

From the previous thread on the same story: <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.truthorfiction.com&#x2F;cabbie&#x2F;" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.truthorfiction.com&#x2F;cabbie&#x2F;</a>TLDR: &quot;He told TruthOrFiction.com that the story is true and happened to him in Minneapolis, Minnesota in the early 1980’s. At the time he was working as a driver for the Yellow Cab company and worked what he called “the dog shift” overnight.&quot;

I don&#x27;t know how cab fares &amp; driver pay work now, but decades ago I was told that after the driver payed the &quot;drop fee&quot; (iirc), he just kept the rest of the fares for the shift. Also, the driver paid for all the gas - so cabs drivers frequently kept as little as possible in the gas tank, and just added what was needed if they got dispatched farther out.This was west coast; please correct me if anyone has more information.Also, until just now, I&#x27;d forgotten seeing 2-way radios when I got into cabs in the 70&#x27;s. Wow, technology!

Yeah, something about a person who can still haul around luggage going to a hospice doesn&#x27;t work for me. Hospices are usually the last stop for the bedridden, not the doomed-but-ambulatory. I&#x27;m no expert, of course...Also, the &quot;not taking a fare&quot; aspect is just, eh. You&#x27;re okay explaining the hours of mileage to your company? &quot;She was a nice old lady... And she needs some spending money in the afterlife.&quot;

Honestly I love the message, but this is just bad writing. The grammar and style are fine, but the narrator and his fare are just cardboard cutouts. The most interesting line in the story is that she was an elevator operator. A snippet of authentic dialog would have gone a long way.

Reading this I got the impression that the person is a professional writer and fictionalized for emotional effect.  Indeed, this is from an author.  I&#x27;m all but immune to sentimentalism on the internet, and this story came across like a facebook chain letter.

Lesson: People should hang out on stoops more often.

I had some miraculous wizard encounters too, with Jesus Mouse!There was a nice bohemian coffee shop on Haight Street in San Francisco that I used to hang out at in the early 90&#x27;s, and one of the regulars who called himself &quot;Jesus Mouse&quot; was an old freaky looking hippie dude in a costume of a Mickey Mouse hat, and long tail, and Jesus-like long beard and hair.He also carried a wizardly walking stick topped with an ornate purple court jester&#x27;s head with a curling tongue sticking out with a small key at the tip, and a thick worn spell book covered in fabric and sequins and runes that he&#x27;d sit and write in all the time.(He made such an strong impression both visually and mentally, that I remember him in high definition!)Occasionally tourists would walk in, look at him, do a double take, chat him up, and ask to take selfies with him, for which he would charge $5 a shot.We talked occasionally, and over time he told me his backstory about how he represented the combination of the most prominent icons of American mythology, and he just happened to know how to pass the official test that the Vatican used to determine whether or not somebody who thought he was Jesus actually WAS the Second Coming of Jesus H Christ, Our Lord.He never explicitly stated it, but it became evident that he wasn&#x27;t a lunatic, he didn&#x27;t actually BELIEVE he was Jesus, or believed IN Jesus, but he did believe the Catholic Church was totally full of shit, and he just somehow happened to know how to prove he was Jesus according to the Vatican&#x27;s own rules.(However he never told me the actual secret answer to prove you&#x27;re Jesus, so don&#x27;t ask, since I would have long since proven I was Jesus had I known.)His lifelong mission was to prove to the Vatican on their own terms that he really was Jesus H Christ incarnate, and then once established, he would insist that they liquidate all of their hoards of precious artwork, and give away the money to the poor.He told me about how in his past glory days he&#x27;d led parades of hippies down Haight Street to Golden Gate Park, where he publicly declared himself Jesus and demanded the Catholic Church liquidate and distribute all of their treasures to the poor.And another story about how he had once ran into a sympathetic rich lady from a royal family in Europe who was intrigued by his story (by God, who wouldn&#x27;t be???), and she had some connections who knew how to get him into the Vatican to meet the Pope and take the test.So she arranged to fly him out to Europe, and he got into the Vatican, then he told them his story and gave them his proof, and they beat the shit out of him and dumped him outside onto the street, so he never got to meet the Pope.He also related how he&#x27;d smuggled LSD into Europe by cutting blotter paper up into little colored pieces of paper and gluing them all over his scepter as decoration, and nobody in customs or airport security was remotely suspicious about it.So apparently this guy really did get around, possibly by using an Infinite Improbability Drive:The last time I saw him was when I was in Amsterdam for the InterCHI &#x27;93 conference, and a bunch of us went out to the Homegrown Fantasy Coffeeshop on Nieuwezijds Voorburgwal, and we&#x27;re all sitting inside doing what you do inside a coffeeshop, and I happened to glance up and look out the window, and there was Jesus Mouse, ambling down the sidewalk!!!He&#x27;s kind of hard not to miss, and easy to recognize, so I pointed and shouted &quot;IT&#x27;S JESUS MOUSE!!!&quot;, ran outside, flagged him down, invited him in, and he joined us, introduced himself, hung out for a while, and told us his stories.I don&#x27;t know what I would have done if it hadn&#x27;t really been him, since the other people I was with might have thought I was crazy! Instead, it was one of those magical moments, seared into my memory.Later on I found out a lady friend of mine and he had been lovers, and she said he was a kind and interesting dude, he was pretty well known around the Haight&#x2F;Ashbury scene, and did like to travel around the world, but that he&#x27;d since passed away.

I had two fairly magical musical experiences with old guys during my college days.One happened during my junior year. I lived in a house with two other guys, who were out of town for the night, so I was home alone. I was short on cash so decided to just stay home, and I was playing guitar out on the stoop of my house drinking from a bottle of cheap wine that was left over in the fridge. I was pretty delighted when two drunk guys threw a fiver on my porch as they passed by - I was definitely not playing to any level that deserved money, but it felt pretty awesome.An older hippie looking guy came stumbling down the walk. He stopped and asked me if he could play something on my guitar. I was immediately nervous that the guy might run off with the guitar, but I hesitantly handed it over to him, and he strummed out a song which I had never heard before (Bob Dylan&#x27;s She Belongs to Me). He was no rock star - his chord changes were sloppy, his voice was raspy and maybe a little off key. But he shared a wonderful song that I love to this day, then thanked me for letting him play and continued on his way. What a cool little moment, to meet this random stranger and be able to share that music.The other moment was even more strange and magical, and happened about a year before. A buddy and I had been holed up in the house watching TV and smoking pot for a while, and we stepped out onto the stoop to have a cigarette. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and we were just chatting, goofing around with accents and silly jokes, enjoying the fresh air and the leftovers of our weed high. All of sudden we heard this strange, ethereal music coming from down the street, and went silent as we strained to hear the sound. From the street corner emerged a man in a forest green suit, with a long white beard, carrying some sort of harp, and playing it beautifully as he walked by. The guy didn&#x27;t acknowledge us in any way, and we were far too shocked to think of anything to say as he passed. We watched him walk away, still playing this almost angelic music, and the music faded as he got out of hearing distance. My friend and I stood there in stunned silence, until one of us asked, unbelievingly &quot;did you see that too?&quot; I never saw this guy on campus again after that day, but my friend and I still joke about the time we saw an actual wizard on campus. If I hadn&#x27;t had a friend with me, I&#x27;m not sure I would believe that it was real, I&#x27;d chalk it up to some vivid dream or hallucination or something. But again, what a magical thing to have happen.

Perhaps, once a year, there ought to be an &quot;Official offline day&quot;, where all cellular networks are down, so humans can have such moments of serendipity again.

This is another thing which cell phones have killed. Today odds are you would be trying to call or text to get in or just browsing on your phone with no time to listen to some old man’s stories .

I might be building a mental image that was not your experience, but I&#x27;m getting a real &quot;My Diner with Andre&quot; feel to your story. Just... nothing going on. One location. A lot of anecdotes and stories that add up to both nothing and everything, and then it&#x27;s over and life unpauses.I&#x27;m not sure exactly how I feel, other than I&#x27;m tremendously moved and I think hopeful to have many experiences where I get to be both sides of that conversation. Thanks for sharing.

Thank you for sharing your story.When I was in college, I joined a community service fraternity. One of the most memorable and heartwarming event was our visit to a retirement home. We were there to help the staff, but the best part was sitting with the residents and listening to their stories. Stories of war, stories of love, stories of friendship. Stories waiting for an attentive and friendly ear. Sometimes, all you need to do is just listen.I look back at that day with fond memories.

This sounds almost like the basis for the Strangler&#x27;s (80s) song &quot;Midnight Summer Dream&quot;.<a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;genius.com&#x2F;The-stranglers-midnight-summer-dream-lyrics" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;genius.com&#x2F;The-stranglers-midnight-summer-dream-lyri...</a><a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.youtube.com&#x2F;watch?v=HI7CB2UwSj4">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.youtube.com&#x2F;watch?v=HI7CB2UwSj4</a>

Glad folks liked the story I tapped out with my thumbs while waiting for my coffee order. I added it to my journal in case someone wants to share it 24 years from now: <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.gregkogan.com&#x2F;journal&#x2F;stoop&#x2F;" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.gregkogan.com&#x2F;journal&#x2F;stoop&#x2F;</a>

Life can be full of &#x27;magical moments&#x27; if we just look for them. Often we don&#x27;t even have to seek them out, just don&#x27;t ignore them when they come calling...

Back in high school, I fulfilled my community service requirement at a local nursing home. Several of the residents there had no local friends or family, and as a result, no visitors. I was tasked just with giving them someone to talk to.What surprised me is that most of the residents did not want to talk to someone - they wanted to be left alone. Many assumed they&#x27;d be going home, and didn&#x27;t want to build any friendships. The one exception who stood out was a man in what I believe was his late 70s, functionally deaf but still able to speak. I&#x27;d communicate with him by writing on a whiteboard, and letting him speak in response.This man over the course of several weeks gave me his life&#x27;s story - if I recall, he&#x27;d worked most of his life as a Boston firefighter. He had quite a bit to say, and I could tell that given the nature of interacting with him, no one else had really spent time talking with him since he&#x27;d become deaf. I don&#x27;t know how long he had been deaf for, but I imagine this wasn&#x27;t terribly different from being &quot;locked in&quot;.My second to last week at the nursing home, he told me that he&#x27;d said everything there was to say - he didn&#x27;t have any more stories, but was happy to have seen me come back.My last week there, I went to go see him anyway, only to find the bed clean and his things moved out. It turned out that he had passed away earlier in the week.I&#x27;m happy that I was able to give him those few hours.

For some strange reason this story really made me upset. Why is it so extraordinary - to talk to an elderly person?  I talk to elderly people all the time and they are normal humans with tons of stories.  Why is this so strange to the OP they remembered it 20 years later? Do we ignore the elderly this much?

Nearly 20 years ago my friend and I returned to his dorm building after a long long night out, only to discover we were locked out. With nothing better to do, we sat outside on the stoop and planned to chat the hours away until 6am when the doors would reopen.Before the dawn came, a man in his 80s almost walked past us. He stopped to ask for directions somewhere, maybe to a church. After our half-hearted attempt at giving him directions, he asked us a question. Small talk. And then another. And then the questions turned into statements (“my daughter also went to art school”), and then into short stories, then long stories. My friend and I — having nothing better to do at this early hour, and each recognizing this man wasn’t looking for a sermon but an audience — kept listening.The old man’s long stories turned into deeply personal stories; of hunting deer with his father, of losing friends in the war… He went on and on, pausing occasionally to stare a thousand yards past us and let a patient tear make room for another.An hour later, in a click, the man wished us a good day and went about his way. And with a click, the lobby door behind us unlocked, and we went on our way. We slept until noon and I mostly forgot what else happened the previous night, but I never forgot that early morning moment.Those of us who are lucky to reach that age will surely have endless tales and thoughts to tell, and I hope we’re all lucky to find an attentive ear, whether from a stoop-sitting stranger or a taxi driver.

I think that the no-heroism-gene group might&#x27;ve been what really sensitized me to this.After seeing a particular incident as an adult, when I saw people not help even when it was begged for, and it was even their job... I started having a strong teary-eyed emotional reaction whenever I did see heroism specifically. After a few times of that reaction, I realized it wasn&#x27;t due to a powerful moment in a movie or children&#x27;s cartoon that prompted it -- it had started happening coincidentally after having been gravely disappointed by the no-heroism-gene group. Exactly why, I don&#x27;t know, but we seem to have some strong wiring related to giving and expecting help.

I have also come to believe this. It&#x27;s something that emerges in the moment - the moment of crisis, or the moment of need. You don&#x27;t see it day-to-day, usually.I suspect it&#x27;s over-represented in populations like nurses and firefighters. It&#x27;s sometimes easier to see who doesn&#x27;t have it - the people who &quot;stay out of it&quot; - those bystander effect exemplars who nonetheless remain nearby recording on their phones.

&gt; I&#x27;ve wondered where that comes from, nature or nurture. And how common it is.Altruism is deeply embedded in all men, because it raises our chances of securing a mate. Nurture probably has some degree of an effect, but it&#x27;s one of the most basal instincts.

I&#x27;m sorry :(. I guess that&#x27;s why it&#x27;s hard, because it doesn&#x27;t always turn out right. This person probably did thousands of drives in their life and only ONE of them led them to that feeling.

I did this for a friend once too, for a year and a half. My friend had been running backpackers, and lost the business (and their place to stay) fast and unexpectedly when the building it was in was sold to a hostile landlord. It paid off. He&#x27;s back on his feet.I see people like investments; in cases like this, I didn&#x27;t want to profit in the classic sense, but I did want to see my friend succeed, and I knew my friend had it in him. All I needed to do was provide a roof over his head for a bit.I&#x27;m sorry to hear you had a negative experience here. There are success stories out there though. In the end, its about taking the right risks for the right people.

I did this for a friend once--housed a friend for 8 months during the pandemic--and it turned out they were just using me and deepening their addiction.I don&#x27;t really believe in caring about people anymore.I argued against that conclusion, but I lost.

It&#x27;s definitely something that can be trained and improved with practice. The brain needs to switch from thinking &quot;Is this a situation where I can actually help? Do they need help? What if I mess up? What if it&#x27;s a scam?, etc.&quot; to &quot;I&#x27;m helping, how do I help?&quot;. It&#x27;s easy to freeze and let the opportunity to help pass by, but once you start it&#x27;s much easier to continue.I remember an interview from an old LARP camp director (Brennan Lee Mulligan, although I forget if it was his podcast or another one) who recalled the nurses helping out at the camp saying LARP was surprisingly good training for first responders because it gives kids practice with running towards the people who need help instead of away from potential dangers.

&gt; it was possible to believe that I had been placed on earth for the sole purpose of providing her with that last ride.I suspect that a lot of people have a &quot;heroism gene&quot;. In situations in which they&#x27;re doing something selfless, and nothing matters other than helping the person before them who really needs it, there&#x27;s an implicit &quot;this is my purpose&quot; or &quot;this is what we do&quot;.I&#x27;ve wondered where that comes from, nature or nurture. And how common it is.And also how that changes once they have family dependent on them, when helping someone else would threaten that.

Poignant and heartfelt, I did cry a little.

I seriously just had a return to reality that I haven&#x27;t felt in a while. It&#x27;s putting a lot of things into perspective.

originally came for hacks and code tricks; stayed for the posts like this that make me actually feel and think. thanks hn.

You may like to read &quot;the invention  of curry sausage&quot; by Uwe Timm.

This is probably one of the best things I read on here. Thank you for sharing.

I drove cabs PT in college. Usually the night shift on weekdays, which none of the FT drivers liked because demand was light.One night, I got a call to a suburban address, a little white Cape-style house. It was a guy in his 30s, glasses and a mustache. He seemed a little anxious, and explained that he was visiting his mother at the hospital - St. Elizabeths in Boston. Something serious. It was just him and his mom living in the little Cape.About a month later, the dispatcher sent me to the same address, again at night. It was him. His mother had died and he was absolutely shattered. Utter despair as I had never witnessed close up in my young life. I can&#x27;t remember where he wanted to go. Honestly, I think he just wanted someone to talk with. And I did, as best I could.

&gt; I do not think that I have ever done anything in my life that was any more important.My grandmother was in hospital on palatial care. We didn&#x27;t know how long she would have, but it wasn&#x27;t much.I look an awful lot like my uncle due to having curly hair. I sat with her holding her hand for hours, just being with her and making sure she wasn&#x27;t alone. She thought I was my uncle most of the time, but it didn&#x27;t matter. (Very confused nurses when she called me her son.)I still consider it one of the most important things I&#x27;ve done. Being there for someone in their final days is sad, but also a gift if they can be provided some comfort.

This is very adorable. Thank you for sharing this story with us today.

That is a beautiful and heartwarming story. I am happy to observe that people like you are not unusual in New York. I have had several visits there where I stood trying to orient myself, and locals would stop and ask me where I wanted to go. And it’s not like I’m an attractive woman or anything.

A few days in on my first trip to New York City, I had decided to visit Central Park. On the subway there, I (Korean-American) noticed out of the corner of my eye an elderly Asian woman who was sitting right next to me, keep staring at me then looking away multiple times. After a few minutes of this, I stared right back at her and she asked me, &quot;Ni zhong guo ren?&quot; (are you Chinese)? Luckily, I was almost done graduating from college and in my last few semesters took Chinese as an elective. I said to her in my crappy Chinese &quot;Bu. Wo shi han guo ren. Ke shi, wo zhi dao zhong wen yi dian dian.&quot; (No, I&#x27;m Korean, but I know a little Chinese.) She said something I couldn&#x27;t understand, and was pointing to some paper with an address on it. I asked her in Chinese where she was going and she kept pointing to the paper and I realized it was the bus terminal. She looked deathly scared and afraid as if she was going to get lost, so I quickly looked up the stop for the bus terminal and I told her to follow me. She&#x27;s got two heavy pieces of luggage, and I&#x27;m carrying it for her all the way to the terminal, to ticketing. I do my best to translate for her, get her the tickets to her destination of Flushing, New York. I guide her to the right gate and as I&#x27;m about to leave, she stops me, thanks me, and hands me some ginseng drink and a Christian tract. I take the drink, and I hand her back the tract. She&#x27;s like, &quot;no, take it.&quot; I say to her, &quot;No, it&#x27;s ok. Ssang-di (God), I believe. I believe in Jesus.&quot; There&#x27;s a bit of a glad shock on her face and says, &quot;Ohhhhh.&quot; We part ways. The fear on her face disappeared and I could see she felt comfortable and relaxed as she waited at the gate.It was just an awkward, but fun and memorable experience I&#x27;ll never forget. I was a little annoyed early on cause there was only a few hours of daylight left and I wanted to spend as much time at Central Park, but it was just nice to help someone who seemed in desperate need of help. The funny thing is, this delay to Central Park actually timed it so that I got into a nice conversation with an older woman who sat on a bench next to me in the park.

Beautiful... 
Would fit well as a part of &quot;Night on Earth&quot;.

My aunt and I sat on her bed in the nursing home, enjoyed the cannolis and milk I had brought, and spoke of all the good times we had together. That was the last time I saw her.

I helped guide my mother through a very rough patch of depression and suicidal ideation last year, no doubt exacerbated by her chronic health issues. It forced me to confront many of the issues we try to forget, not the least of which being that our parents are complicated people with their own lives, and that it&#x27;s very hard to watch someone who has always been your &#x27;rock&#x27; need you to do that for them.As hard as it was, I&#x27;m glad I was able to be that for her. Love, it seems, is defined by the really hard times, not the easy, and sometimes, the most important thing is just being there when you&#x27;re needed the most.

today I&#x27;m with my father, he we scheduled for angioplasty which was unsuccessful as he will need heart surgery. His heart is to clogged up. We are now waiting to see the doctor for the next steps.As I&#x27;m seeing him age and become more fragile, I also don&#x27;t think I&#x27;ve done anything more important that what I&#x27;m doing right now.thank you for sharing this story.

Yeah according to the internet. In 1984 Wilson’s job is to change the internet in subtle ways so that the lies become the truth. How can we really be sure anymore unless we directly | personal know the author?

In this case you will, because it was apparently published in a book 20 years ago.

ChatGPT3 makes me no longer trust online writing. was that writing part of the simulation program, I’ll never truly know.

Thought of this gem:<a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.reddit.com&#x2F;r&#x2F;talesfromtechsupport&#x2F;comments&#x2F;28qemm&#x2F;dont_bother_sending_a_tech_ill_be_dead_by_then&#x2F;" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.reddit.com&#x2F;r&#x2F;talesfromtechsupport&#x2F;comments&#x2F;28qem...</a>

This hit me right in the feels. Decades ago I was a paperboy whose route included an old age home. I&#x27;ll never forget that place - it was a soul-less 50&#x27;s 4-story building that stank of strong disinfectant. It was unnerving, even for a somewhat clueless kid. I was very into WWII airplanes and struck up a friendship with a former pilot who shared his stories and gave me a few photos. He was a very nice man and I remember thinking how sad I was he was alone. I&#x27;m a lot closer to that age now and it still breaks my heart.

I am not sure there is anything else on the Internet worth reading today.

One after a yoga class I got ride home with the teacher. I didn&#x27;t know him well, but I knew he was also studying to be a chaplain. He seemed shaken.He shared that earlier that day he had visited a nursing home to hear the story of an older woman. Just listen. She told him her story and then, just died. He had this strong sense that she was just waiting to tell her story before she let go.I wasn&#x27;t impacted like he was, but like the taxi ride this carpool created an intimate space to share a personal story. It&#x27;s been a couple decades and I have not forgotten this one.

it is so easy to forget we&#x27;re in this together.  it&#x27;s nice to be reminded. peace and joy fellow travelers.

Your experience with Chris has extended from you, to us, and I&#x27;m grateful to read about it. Thank you for sharing.

Being a mobile computer repair guy, I had some similar experiences. Two stand out.We&#x27;ll call the first Chris K. He was an older gentlemen who could barely walk in a straight line, stooped over so far as he was. But his energy was far greater than that which is body would let him express. He was a writer who usually needed help figuring out something with his latest book, which he was self-publishing.The computer was tucked into a corner of a large room above his garage where the walls were lined with hundreds of books. This was his lair, his private place where he ruled as king. He told me stories of emigrating from France to the US, becoming a naturalized citizen so that he could join the draft and fight in Vietnam. Of having enough damage done to the right side of his face that he had to have a skin graft, sourced from his buttocks. He told of the joy he had when he invited somebody he didn&#x27;t like to give him a kiss on the cheek! I would often finish the job and then just listen to his stories for a while until I had to go to the next.His wife on the other hand was a quiet woman. You could see a twinkle in their eyes when they were together. I admired them for that. I really loved that old fellow. I&#x27;d been going to his home, a two story home up on a hill, for about a year.One day I saw his name on my schedule, and automatically went to his home. But when the car stopped at his driveway, it was empty. Quickly the realization came that something was wrong. It dawned on me that the address on the schedule wasn&#x27;t his home address.I did recognize the address, however, and when my brain put the puzzle together, my heart sank.When I walked into the his room at the assisted living home, I very nearly wept. His once vast library shrank to a small book shelf in a corner. A few belongings were his own, but this was clearly a temporary arrangement, and likely his last home. The most heartbreaking moment though, was when we made eye contact. The fire was gone. The once vibrant man, full of piss and vinegar, was now a broken shell.Chris&#x27;s beloved wife had died suddenly, leaving him without a care taker. His children opted to send him to an assisted living home. That was the last time I saw him. I moved away soon after that, and I never knew what happened next, but I didn&#x27;t need to find out. The outcome was obvious enough.The look in his eyes that day is still hard to think about, but I am grateful for the chance to have made any modicum of a difference in his life.

I’ve always had bad insomnia, and back in the days when Lyft was still mustaches and fist bumps and front seats, I was all in - I would work at&#x2F;on my startup during the day, and when I couldn’t sleep for a few hours at night (genuinely not tired, so not at particular risk of driving) I would drive for Lyft to meet some people.The people I met were absolutely fascinating. Some were the usual “get me to my place” and whatnot, but because Lyft had the vibe of “we aren’t Uber, we’re your friend with a car” at the time, I really got to chat with some incredible people. Plenty of kids done with partying for the night, but also the executive chef at Michael Mina at the 49ers stadium, some old folks with lots of crazy stories, etc.When Lyft turned into “also Uber” all of that was lost; introverts were thrilled at the ability to sit in the back and be chauffeured without ever having to say a word, but the vibe of what made me so interested in driving for Lyft was gone, so after a few rides in “the new system,” I quit doing it and started busking with my music instead. Then the pandemic happened and I’m still seeking a new outlet for that sort of “intentional” chance encounter.But I do miss those days.

didn&#x27;t expect to be this moved today, on HN.this reminded me of The Egg, and decided to reread it.<a href="http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.galactanet.com&#x2F;oneoff&#x2F;theegg_mod.html" rel="nofollow">http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.galactanet.com&#x2F;oneoff&#x2F;theegg_mod.html</a>

I love a rare inspirational story in this age of negativity! I realize that the subject is mortality, but all of us have to die sometime and some of us will have fortune or misfortune to outlive others in our immediate orbit and then we can still hope for kindness of strangers until the end.For those of us with non-people facing jobs, it helps to remember that our products too play a lot of positive role in lives of our users, even if we are not there to see that in person. E-mail carries love letters, phone camera captures first baby photos, video consumption apps and device play romantic movies for couples. And to try a little harder to make sure these magic moments happen smoothly.

Holy crap, that was a moving article.On a lighter note…If you drive for Uber or Lyft aren’t thrilled with it, this quote from the article shows how to reframe your job. Some people might think, “am I going to pick up yet another sorority girl who barfs in the backseat tonight?“ But instead, you could look at it like this:&gt; There was a time in my life twenty years ago when I was driving a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life, a gambler’s life, a life for someone who wanted no boss, constant movement and the thrill of a dice roll every time a new passenger got into the cab.

Let&#x27;s play devil&#x27;s advocate.This person was going to die soon anyway. They&#x27;d only live with the disappointment of their last ride to hospice for a few weeks&#x2F;months anyway.What difference does it really make, to be lonely for a few weeks at the end of your life vs having one moment of joy?I&#x27;m sure this person suffered and was lonely on their way out anyway. I doubt that cab ride meant much as they were struggling to breath at the end.Aside from which, why do we think it matters more what happens at the end of a person&#x27;s life? Either it all matters or none of it does, and these days I&#x27;m inclined toward the latter, in case you haven&#x27;t already gathered that.

Thank you so much for helping her and the kindness you showed.

I used to work for the fruit companies senior support.We didn&#x27;t technically have the capacity for long term relationships with customers, but one woman had a lot of trouble with her fruitpad. She had MS, and her fingers didn&#x27;t work. So she kept getting angrier and angrier at tier 1 support people who were granted completely useless.Her issue is that she needed 12 attempts at everything because of her hands, and because of her age she needed the instructions every time. Simple things like, purchasing a song and downloading it were quite an ordeal for her.After the first time we spoke, I left the ticket open with a note that I had to follow up for some reason. And I did. And we got to talking. She was in an old age home where her kids had left her before they went overseas. She didn&#x27;t resent them at all tbh, in fact she needed her fruitpad to communicate with them. We left the first ticket open for a month and communicated back and forth. I don&#x27;t know if management caught wind but they certainly didn&#x27;t intervene. I guess I just kept her company after a certain point. She always had a book or something she needed adding, and that would always without fail turn into a minimum 1 hour phone call. But seniority bought be a lot of leeway with my stats and honestly I didn&#x27;t give a shit. We talked about what her kids were up to, and who the worst nurse was that sort of thing.One day I was handed a new contract to sign that would also give a large blue entity first dibs on anything I built at home. I had just signed on to a software project with a friend and wasn&#x27;t going to sign his hard work away. They walked me out of the building because it was too hard to get the large blue legal firm to change a contract. So I never got to say goodbye.

I drove a cab maybe twice in my life, I mostly drive in Ubers. On the rare occasion the driver actually wants to talk I always get something interesting out of it. I remember driving to a friend once, and, as per usual I had selected a nearby Google location as the point of drop-off. Turns out it was a sales office for that particular block of flats and I ended getting a 20-minute-long lecture from the driver, who had previously worked on constructing such blocks (very common type of new (2010-) buildings in Poland, out of which all of them are nearly the same other than the exterior looks) which made me swear to myself I&#x27;d never live in one of them. One thing that stuck out the most was the fact that there was almost no quality control just because it wasn&#x27;t worth it at the number of buildings they were pushing out per year.

I wrote a similar story once, but it was about my experience as a passenger. I think OP is spot-on about the cab being a confessional. I spent a large chunk of my life in cabs before I got my motorcycle, and I always liked talking to cabbies. On better days I&#x27;d ask them about their lives, on worse ones I&#x27;d talk about mine. It&#x27;s nice to know it&#x27;s appreciated&#x2F;welcome.

One thing I&#x27;ve developed over the past few years is to welcome and embrace the strangers&#x27; stories. Normally I&#x27;d rather go about my way but now I&#x27;m genuinely curious and interested. I always get to hear some random interesting stories as they come, tell some stories of my own and show some empathy towards the person telling it. Everyone likes to be heard but we&#x27;re all too busy and think we have more important things to do. I highly recommend it to anyone.

In 2014, I&#x27;ve met in Krakow a Ukrainian woman in her sixties, feeding pigeons just next to the Wisla river. It wasn&#x27;t anything uncommon, during the Crimean crisis hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians migrated to Poland. She asked me in Polish&#x2F;Ukrainian how to reach the main square — she has been in Krakow for many days but hasn&#x27;t been able to see the city attractions. I had few minutes to spare so I decided to walk her to the old city (~15 min walk). The short walk transformed into a tour over the restaurants — we had to visit every kitchen to ask if they would employ her as a kitchen aid; then over the churches — she was an orthodox, I believe, but she prayed in every catholic church for her family, Ukraine and finally, for me. When we have finally reached the main square, she was so authentically delighted with the place — she stopped everywhere to admire and marvel on various old buildings and... tourists. She was so happy to be able to talk (me, being a poor substitute for a translator) with tourists from USA and western Europe. Tourists were also happy to give her some small souvenirs (e.g. very small American flag you can attach to your backpack).All in all, the short walk took few hours, she was very talkative and I&#x27;ve learned a lot about her life in the central Ukraine and I&#x27;ve been invited to visit her anytime. The thing I will remember the most is how she appreciated the world around her, everything was so interesting and new — a world-view foreign to most of the people I know. It was a very enriching walk and I don&#x27;t regret it, even if it destroyed my daily routine ;)

My father &amp; mother divorce since I was 5, and I live with my mom since. One day we have to go to funeral of our relative, and my father is there. We are complete stranger by now, but also father and son. So imagine when I have to talk to him, for the first time after 30 years later. It&#x27;s awkward as hell, but I&#x27;m glad I decide to do it because that might be the last time I have a chance to speak to my father. It&#x27;s small talk and nothing more, yet I can feel something heavy lift out of my chest, like, he&#x27;s just an old man now, and whatever bad things he&#x27;s done in his past is now long gone — it&#x27;s like I&#x27;m reconcile with him in some way.That being said, I don&#x27;t have answer for you, but if you think you should do something about it, then do it!

This article reminds me of my father. After my mother died, he&#x27;s living alone in my home town. He spend most of his days without talking to anyone, but I know he&#x27;s keeping a diary. And I&#x27;m sure he has a lot of story to tell, but the problem is how. As a shy Japanese man who&#x27;s born in 1940s&#x27; he isn&#x27;t a very talkative type, especially to his son. I think I should go back seeing him occassionaly, but I might still miss the opportunity of listening. I&#x27;m just writing here to remind myself. I should do something about it. Probably.

In case you all have overlooked this fact, we are all going to be this old person, soon. We have time to show kindness, and we have time to live an interesting, fulfilling life. I&#x27;m at a point when I wonder, when I hit that truly old stage, who will even believe the stories I could tell, never mind listen. It might be better to write a book, before I&#x27;mn old, so that it won&#x27;t seem like just the ramblings of an old person.

Yeah, this cab driver was certainly a traffic direction contrarian!

The cab ride I will never forget: it was a night-time trip from Thane to Mumbai. A group of friend and I were headed to a bar in the city. I was watching the highway signs, and saw we missed our exit. So I called out, &quot;Excuse me, I think we just missed our exit.&quot;&quot;Oh, no matter&quot; said the driver. He then slammed on the brakes in the middle of the freeway, threw the car into reverse, and looked back as he began careening in reverse back up the outermost lane (not the shoulder!)We made it about 100 meters until we got rear-ended by a tuk-tuk (auto rickshaw). The tuk-tuk driver pulled over to the cabbie&#x27;s window and began giving him an earful. The cabbie nonchalantly pulled out a few bills from his wallet, the tuk-tuk guy counted them, nodded, and off he went.We were all shocked speechless, no one said a word as the cabbie then proceeded in reverse another 100 meters. We did eventually reach the exit, and began moving in the forward direction again.One of my friends then explained to me that was a classic example of &quot;jugaad&quot;. As defined by the Oxford Dictionary:jugaad &#x2F;dʒʊˈɡɑːd&#x2F; noun, Indian &quot;A flexible approach to problem-solving that uses limited resources in an innovative way.&quot;

Beautiful! Reinstates my faith in humanity, thank you.

Because I could not stop for Death, by Emily Dickinson.

She gave you a moment of joy as she didn&#x27;t wanna ride with someone who would be scared and wouldn&#x27;t knock on the only window.

That was beautiful, and ugly, and hurtful, and sweet. And it was weighted more in feelings than the breadth of its words. Damn. Thanks.

There was a great blog from a Sydney cab driver. Discontinued in 2012 but considered good enough to be preserved at the Australian National Library.&quot;Adrian the Cab driver&quot; <a href="https:&#x2F;&#x2F;jafablog.typepad.com&#x2F;" rel="nofollow">https:&#x2F;&#x2F;jafablog.typepad.com&#x2F;</a>

Since this is turning into a series of remembrances, I will add this one.<a href="http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.cosmicken.com" rel="nofollow">http:&#x2F;&#x2F;www.cosmicken.com</a>40 years ago this guy shopped at a grocery store near his house where I worked at when I was a kid. He&#x27;s still kicking, and I still run into him when I return home.Once he told me a story of his army time in Vietnam. He said he found himself staring face to face at a VC fighter on patrol. Ken said he could tell the other guy was scared too and neither knew what to do. After a moment, he claims he just reached over and gently took the other guy&#x27;s rifle.I always thought it was an interesting (and very brave) solution to that problem.Here&#x27;s to you, ken, I hope you are stilling walking&#x2F;running&#x2F;bumming rides to the beach everyday.

Please stay with us, and seek help if you have suicidal thoughts.Also, there are plenty of places that seek volunteers... Why not join one that fits your interests?

I&#x27;m 35. I haven&#x27;t done one good thing in my life, I&#x27;m stupid and useless and I want to die

Beautiful. I always think deep down we are all empathetic to each other, but the outside circumstance arise(mostly works), then survival mode kick in, and we suddenly see other people as OTHERs, enemies, or &quot;obstacles&quot; to your happiness.I found that I see people differently when they took of their job position out. That&#x27;s when they become a father, a mother, a son, a daughter, etc. — just ordinary people, like us, that have happy and sad moment in their life, that share this tiny pale blue dot together.Anyway, who&#x27;s cutting the onion?

A cab ride I'll never forget (1999)