Maybe it’s because I don’t do a lot of it, or maybe it’s because reality seems to change a little when you cross time zones, but I find traveling to be something unique unto itself.

Your mentality changes. Your philosophy of life changes a little. Even the way you interact with people changes.

I needed to make a quick run to Alabama for my mom and grandma recently. I like those kinds of trips in a strange way. Pack two or three days of clothes, throw my laptop in my backpack, and just go. No extra luggage. No rolling carry-on. Nothing to worry about except getting myself where I need to be.

And the people-watching starts the second I hit the economy lot at the Indianapolis airport.

It basically doesn’t stop for three days.

I make up stories in my head about the people on the shuttle bus. The person traveling for work. The family headed on vacation. The guys’ trip. Someone going to a wedding. Someone else heading to a concert or sporting event.

It’s all part of the charm.

I’ll admit, I’m not someone who talks to strangers on airplanes. But I do listen. And I look around.

It’s always interesting hearing the stories people tell and picking up on the mood around you. Then there are the quirky things that seem strange at first, but make considerably more sense once you watch them unfold.

I’m pretty sure I could write an entire post about the lady who brought a gallon-size Ziploc bag full of Chick-fil-A chicken nuggets onto the plane.

Then comes the Uber driver.

That’s a complete roll of the dice.

And I intentionally say “vehicle” instead of “car,” because I’ve now ridden in pickup trucks, vans, SUVs, two-seat Smart cars, and regular cars.

If I can find someone willing to drive me somewhere on a motorcycle with a sidecar, I think I’ll have completed the set.

Maybe that requires a trip to Asia.

Then you have the drivers themselves.

There was the retired military guy chewing on a cigar who clearly had a lifetime of stories he didn’t really want to talk about, but absolutely wanted you to know existed. So instead, he had pages of information written out and attached to the back of the passenger seat for you to read.

Then there was the 5:00 a.m. driver who said hello and almost immediately shifted into treating me like I was a priest. He started confessing the sins of his previous week, either because he needed to get them off his chest or because it was some backwards attempt at earning sympathy and a larger tip.

Either way, I found it fascinating.

And then there was this trip.

I spent time listening to stories from my 97-year-old grandma, who has been hardened by a lifetime of experiences and now tells many of those stories on repeat. Some of them I’ve always taken as at least a little exaggerated.

Then I got into an Uber and listened to the driver tell his own versions of remarkably similar stories.

That’s when I started thinking maybe Grandma wasn’t exaggerating nearly as much as I thought.

Maybe some of it is just regional.

What sticks with me is that all these people are around us every day.

They’re at Target.

They’re eating breakfast at Hardee’s.

They’re standing in line at Kroger.

But it would feel strange to suddenly have these kinds of conversations with them there.

Travel changes that somehow.

Maybe it’s because everyone is temporarily disconnected from their normal life. Maybe people know they’ll probably never see each other again. Maybe being between one place and another makes us a little more willing to watch, listen, talk, confess, or tell a stranger a story.

Whatever it is, I love that part of traveling.

Sometimes the destination isn’t even the most interesting part of the trip.

It’s everybody you pass along the way.