I’ve been thinking lately about how easily we can move through the world without really seeing the people around us.

We pass one another in grocery stores, sit beside each other at restaurants, stand in line together, share the same neighborhood, the same beach, the same city. We can live alongside people for years and never know anything about their lives.

And yet sometimes, with a little intentionality, a stranger becomes part of our day.

A smile. A conversation. An invitation to join something. A shared discovery. A willingness to look up from whatever we are doing and notice the person standing beside us.

I've been noticing this more since traveling. Not because I'm somewhere new, but because I am paying closer attention to the people around me.

There is a little girl I often see at the pool with her mother. She is only two, but she swims like a fish. Goggles on, she moves through the water with a confidence that makes you forget how young she is, as though she were born knowing what to do.

Whenever she sees me, her face breaks into the brightest smile and she makes sure to say hello. There is something about being greeted so enthusiastically by someone so young that makes you smile back, no matter what kind of day you're having.

I sometimes think she has an old soul in a very young body.

Her family is traveling too. Her mother is a young woman traveling with her daughter and her parents, all from Arizona. They have sold most of what they owned and are spending time moving from place to place. They have already spent time in Cancun, Costa Rica, Thailand, and now Panama.

I met another mother who is traveling with her seven-year-old son. She homeschools him as they move between countries, following a path that has already taken them through Guatemala and El Salvador and now Panama. Colombia is next.

We decided to spend a day together exploring Metropolitan National Park.

Four hours later, that simple excursion had become something much larger.

Our group crossed paths with three people from Los Angeles who were in Panama for only 24 hours to attend a friend's wedding. They were enthusiastically talking their way down the trail and hadn't spotted any animals. We teased them about being a little too loud for the rainforest.

Then we spotted six howler monkeys high in the trees.

We hushed them and pointed upward.

Instantly, everyone became quiet.

The people who had been laughing and talking were suddenly standing beneath the trees, looking up with wide eyes and excitement. For a few minutes, we were all experiencing the same discovery together.

Later, I met an engineer from Los Angeles who was exploring the park on his own with his camera. We talked for a while and exchanged social media accounts. Later I discovered that he had managed to spot the toucan we had been searching for, while we never found it.

Then I met a biologist from the Smithsonian who was studying a plant in the park and its relationship with ants in Central America. We started talking, exchanged social media accounts, and he graciously allowed me to interview him about his work.

I had gone into the park simply wanting to spend time in nature. Instead, I kept encountering people who were paying attention to the world in completely different ways.

Our driver was a kind, patient man I had never met before. He spoke no English, and my Spanish is still very much a work in progress. Yet over four hours together, we managed to communicate plenty.

Somewhere between the park and Casco Viejo, we learned that he had five children.

After the park, we stopped for lunch and all shared a meal. There was something wonderfully ordinary about sitting around the same table with people who, only that morning, had been strangers.

Afterward, the seven-year-old wanted to visit a chocolate shop nearby. He and his mother had discovered it earlier and, because his mother doesn't let him have many sweets, he was especially excited to return for the free samples.

While we were there, we met three travelers from Charlotte, North Carolina.

Again, strangers became companions almost instantly.

We laughed as the patient staff introduced us to the different chocolates and encouraged us to try each one. There was even a shrimp chocolate, which the people from Charlotte and I firmly decided we could live without.

The seven-year-old and his mother were considerably more adventurous.

Then the rain began to pour.

So we stayed a little longer.

We talked and laughed while we waited for the rain to pass, none of us particularly concerned about rushing away.

Eventually, the rain softened and everyone went their separate ways.

I probably won't see most of these people again.

The family will continue traveling. The people from Los Angeles will return home. The engineer will continue photographing places around the world. The biologist will continue studying plants and ants. Our driver will return to his five children. The travelers from Charlotte will continue on their own journey.

And that little girl will keep swimming like a fish.

Yet for a few hours, our paths crossed.

We shared a trail, discovered monkeys together, searched for a toucan, learned about a plant, shared a meal, tasted chocolate, laughed at a seven-year-old's willingness to try shrimp chocolate, and waited together for the rain to stop.

I think there is something worth paying attention to in these brief encounters.

Connection doesn't always require permanence. It doesn't depend on how long we've lived somewhere, how well we know one another, or whether we expect to see each other again.

Sometimes it begins simply by noticing.

By being willing to say hello. To start a conversation. To accept an invitation. To ask a question. To look up and see who else is sharing the moment with us.

Maybe this is another kind of community.

Not the kind we build over years, but the kind that appears when we are intentional enough to notice one another.

We don't always need to know someone for a long time for them to leave something behind.

Sometimes people are only strangers for a little while.

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If you enjoyed Strangers for a Little While, you might also enjoy The Generous Heart of Mérida, a reflection on the small acts of generosity and everyday connections that became some of the most meaningful parts of my time in Mérida.

[Read The Generous Heart of Mérida →]