As I enter my fourth year at Northeastern, I have found genuine intellectual curiosity to be quite rare. The culture of co-op fosters a transactional approach to learning. Students who say they’re genuinely fulfilled by what they are studying are few and far between. Conversations about co-ops have become formulaic, centering around compensation, work hours and networking opportunities to get ahead of the curve, with little regard for the deeper significance or value of the work itself. 

Weeks of grappling with disconnect led me to experience an intensified sense of existential discomfort. I had no option but to impulsively purchase a ticket for an 8 a.m. train bound for New York City. The monotony of college life had blurred into something almost unrecognizable. I boarded the train with the hope that escaping this swelling cloud of superficiality would provide some sense of clarity. I needed an out.

Strangely enough, my journey on the train was anything but inconsequential. Relatively focused on doing homework, I didn’t pay much attention when a polite man asked if the seat next to me was taken. He wore a blue button-down shirt and had a privacy screen on his computer; the only distinguishing details about him were his blue Pennsylvania State University baseball hat and a Massachusetts General Hospital business card sliding around his tray table. We occupied the same silence until the train arrived at Penn Station a few hours later, where a blur of passengers poured out into the lively intersection of 31st Street and 8th Avenue. 

With about eight hours to roam the city, I wandered — claiming a bench by the Central Park Reservoir to sit and read, then taking a ferry to Battery Park. As the clock ticked closer to my departure time, I made my way back to Penn Station and slumped in the window seat of my return train; the comedown of my eager day running up and down Manhattan had finally hit. Yet, despite the exhaustion, I felt a quiet satisfaction — the trip had done its job, leaving me rejuvenated in a way only the grandiosity of the city can.

“I might be mistaken, but I feel like we just sat together on the way in?”

I looked up to see a recognizable blue hat and shirt, now accompanied by a friendly face. Both in a bit of excitement, we joked about the coincidence of us ending up on the same train, in the same car, in the same row. A friendly exchange began as we discussed what brought us to New York City. 

I piqued his curiosity when I explained I had just come to the city for the day — the eight hours of train time dedicated to studying and the rest spent exploring Manhattan. An unexpected intellectual kinship grew as we bonded over our shared pursuit of intrinsic fulfillment, and he shared how traveling and immersing in different cultures had been the most rewarding part of his life. 

Finding someone who approached life in a similar way and thrived in their work was cathartic.

Our conversation carried itself for the entirety of the four-and-a-half-hour ride from New York to Boston. Our discussions ranged from our studies and ambitions to the implementation of artificial intelligence, his wife (how they met, their Kenyan honeymoon, her experience as a fellow in neonatology), the volatility of the Israel-Hamas war, raising kids in the city, the perils of instant gratification and our 10-year generational gap.

A short call he took with his wife interrupted our conversation. As he spoke to her, I fixed my gaze on the window, trying to allow him some privacy. After all, it’s hard not to eavesdrop when seated seven inches from the receiving end of a phone call.

Indiscernible chatter emanating from his phone prompted him to admit to his wife that he felt uneasy keeping something from his family. Intrigued, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was being deceptive about. 

The call ended. An awkward silence followed a tacit acknowledgment that I had inevitably overheard this exchange since this call interrupted me mid-sentence. 

He told me he was diagnosed with cancer. 

There’s something special about the connection between two strangers in a moment like this. Rarely are conversations ever so authentic. The gravity of this disclosure brought a lot of questions, so I tried my best to curb my curiosity with respect and empathy. 

He was young, maybe mid-30s, and had once been a Division I gymnast. I asked what that meant for him going forward and how he’s dealing with it. I probed probably more than I should have, but I couldn’t resist the chance to question someone who has been dealt such a stark reminder of mortality. 

Despite the heaviness, the mood of our conversation stayed surprisingly light. We found out that we both spontaneously signed up for the Mass General Cancer Center Eversource 5K Run-Walk and simultaneously ran our first 5K together three days prior. 

As we approached his stop, we shook hands and finally introduced ourselves, laughing at the irony of having conversations of such depth and duration without getting each other’s names. We once more rehashed our coincidental encounters, and I said things like this happen to me far too often. He said it must be luck. 

As the train stopped, he gathered his things, thanked me for the good company and went on his way.

I got off the train a stop later feeling invigorated. 

My unexpected encounter with a stranger on the train catalyzed a personal reflection: How do I honor my values in my everyday life? 

There is so much to know and so much wealth in connecting to the people you share space with. This was solidified for me through my conversations on the train that Tuesday. Sitting speaking with a successful businessperson, one who had spent much of his 20s climbing the corporate ladder and who was now grappling with cancer, his biggest regret was neglecting the chance to cultivate a sense of self beyond the confines of his career. His discourse mirrored the dilemmas I have been facing almost too perfectly. 

As I embark on one of my final semesters, I aim to optimize my time — not in pursuit of productivity, but for knowledge and experience. A previous version of myself would feel guilty spending my time trying to decode Ludwig Wittgenstein or writing an opinion article instead of finalizing my cover letters.

Whether I find myself in office hours with an old philosophy professor or sitting on the ferry learning about commercial law from a Manhattan local, I have shifted my priorities to value the connections and knowledge from those around me over the bullet points that I could add to my resume. 

Perhaps my luck manifests in coincidence. While I don’t consider myself spiritual, the impulsive nature of my trip, in light of the discomfort I was experiencing and the improbability of two strangers occupying the same train seat twice, has sparked in me a mildly messianic call to action.

We should lead lives that honor our values. But first, we must discover what those values are. And I think college plays a big role in this. My fear is attending a university that prides itself on cultivating ready-made workers will result in an overwhelming focus on your career and rarely any emphasis on building your personhood. 

How are we to figure out what we value if we are just trying to fill a mold of what our future employers want?

While he may never see this, the man on the train illuminated the harmony I seek to find between my values and my career, and I feel immense gratitude for our serendipitous encounter. 

So, what are the chances that the man who sat next to me inbound also ended up next to me on the return trip? Even more remarkably, the conversation seemed to articulate the very discomfort I had been grappling with in my academic and professional life. 

Gigi Barucci is a fourth-year cell and molecular biology major. She can be reached at [email protected].