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Quiet heroes

A different type of learning

When I imagined what college would be like, part of me believed each new day would bring some flashy, life-changing revelation. Every day, my life would be changed by some mind-bending book or some virtuoso lecture. Every day, I’d gain some unbelievable insight into the workings of the world.

But my forays outside the U.Va. bubble have divorced me from me the idea that the most powerful lessons will come from classrooms. I’ve found sometimes, the most powerful lessons come from the most unexpected places.

I was riding the CAT one day when I struck up a conversation with a 20-something man wearing the token millennial’s plaid shirt, dark jeans and an easy smile. He had curly black hair that danced wildly from his head and the shadows of a beard. In the course of our conversation, he told me of his hometown in Afghanistan. He’d had a breezy childhood, but soon suicide bombings forced him to try to immigrate to the United States. The application process was arduous, requiring three years of medical examinations, interviews and background checks. And on top of the turmoil rending his hometown apart, the fear hung over him that the opportunity to travel to America — the hope that had gleamed before him for so long — would disappear in a sudden wisp of smoke.

He laughed as he told me how he danced around his house for an hour when he found out his Visa had been accepted. But when he arrived in New York, his transition was rough. He knew no one, was practically penniless and had no foundation to help him gain financial footing. A few weeks of scrambling around passed before he managed to find a steady job and enroll in a local college. Now after years of strife, he told me with a goofy smile, he’s on his way to the “good life.”

A few weeks later, I found myself on the CAT once again. In a seat a few rows ahead of me, a mother swaddled her sleeping daughter in a heap of blankets, the baby’s cheek nuzzled against her chest. On the seat beside her was a large maternity bag overflowing with baby supplies.

Just as the bus doors were closing — “Wait!” A disheveled middle-aged woman interjected herself between the folding doors and bounded up the bus steps. The latecomer scanned the bus for a seat, prowling the aisle until her gaze fell upon the mother.

“Can I sit here?” she asked gruffly, pointing to the seat with the maternity bag.

The mother smiled softly, looked at the bag beside her and then back up to the woman. “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t want to wake her.”

For a few seconds, the woman just blinked. Then, in an instant, she exploded. Her voice rose to the pitch of a scream and she started waving wildly at the mother.

“You won’t give me the seat?” she barked. She looked around at the other passengers as if she expected us to share in her indignation. “She won’t give me the seat!” The eruption was random, shocking — the whole bus sat in silence. There were other open seats scattered around, so why was this mother being singled out? Perhaps it was random, but the cynical part of me wondered if it was because of the hijab the mother wore.

In the face of this tirade, the mother remained stolid.

“Please,” she said quietly, pleading with the woman. “My daughter is sleeping.” The passenger behind the mother caught the woman’s attention and led her to a seat beside him, defusing the situation before it went off the rails.

These are only a couple of the episodes that have stuck with me. They’re nothing special — just random encounters — but something about them got me thinking. I know now my belief in where I’d receive my greatest lessons was misplaced. My most powerful lessons haven’t come from textbooks or lectures.

The most powerful lessons are the kind that come from the unsought and unexpected — learning about the silent strength of a refugee who braved an ocean for a chance at a new world, admiring the quiet bravery of an undaunted mother who kept cool at the eruption of an irrational stranger, appreciating the courage of a bystander who helped a stranger and soothed an agitated person.

I’ve learned that I shouldn’t always be on the lookout for some Earth-shattering revelation — sometimes, the most powerful of them occur when we least expect them.

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