Sonder

You are three. You are fifteen. You are eighteen. When, for a moment, you no longer stand at the center of the universe. You are innocent. You are arrogant. You are ignorant. And then, almost suddenly, you are none of those things. You are a person, and surprisingly, so is everyone else. The toll collector, with blue eyes and a gray mustache, is a widower. The kid, with weathered cowboy boots and faded jeans, is disabled. The girl, with rings under her eyes and dirt under her fingernails, is a survivor. You hand dollars to, bump shoulders with, and overlook them all — until you can't. Until their stories mean more to you than your own.