It isn’t often that I get a seat on the way home from work.

By happenstance, today I am standing in front of someone who vacates her seat at Park Place. You can’t hesitate for a moment if you want a seat on a crowded train. Polite people stand a lot.

I’m engrossed in my latest read, Eat, Pray, Love, when the woman to my left asks me a question.

“Do you know what this word means?” She points to solidify in her book. She has a pleasingly round face and shaved head with a five o’clock shadow. The lack of hair makes her pink lipstick stand out against her chocolate skin.

“It means to make stronger.”

We smile at each other and return to our books. After a long day at work (and let’s face it, every day at work is a long day), I’m not in the mood for idle chit chat with strangers. I wish it could come naturally for me to be one of those people who love people, but I have to work at it. I make a New Year’s Resolution every January 1 to be friendlier to random strangers, and by January 5, I’m hoping another Blanche DuBois-type depending on the kindness of strangers doesn’t disturb me from my book.

Then the woman says, “I’m going to write that down in the back of my book so I don’t forget it.” She flips the pages to show me a long list of words on which she needed clarification.

I nod, unsure what else to say, and give her my polite this-conversation-has-run-its-course look. But she hits me with a question out of left field. “How do you know if you’re a visual or aural learner?”

I’m stumped. I don’t know how you know, but you just do. “I guess whichever comes easier for you.”

“Which one are you?”

Now this seems a bit personal. I glance out the window to see that we are only at Clark Street, a full six stops from home. There’s no way to end it politely, so I give in and close my book. “I’m definitely a visual learner.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I’d rather read directions rather than hear them, for example.”

She writes this down, too. It seems that she is also a visual learner, but she just doesn’t realize it. Her face really is pleasant and she gives off a kind vibe, not a creepy one. “Do you have any tips for taking a test? I’m always looking for tips.”

It’s been many years since I’ve taken any tests. The last one, to complete my master’s degree, was a horror show — one essay question from each of seven courses completed. We were allotted one hour per question to write our answers in blue books. Remembering it even now makes me shudder — the studying, the aloofness from professors, the pressure.

But it wasn’t too long ago that I gave tests as an adjunct instructor at a local college. I try to tell her what I would have told my students. “Be confident and don’t second-guess your answers. Your first instinct is nearly always right.”

She goes on to tell me how inspired she is by the book she’s reading and since she’s read all three books by the author, she doesn’t know what she’ll read when she’s done. So now she’s trying to read very slowly. She also thanks me for talking to her. “You know, every time I get on the train I ask God to put me next to someone smarter than me. I’m trying to learn all of the things I didn’t learn when I was younger. I know I’m kind of old for this. It’s not easy starting from scratch.”

“No, but you can’t give up. It’s never too late.” The train pulls into Grand Army Plaza and I take my leave of her.

In a ten-minute conversation with a woman I’d never laid eyes on before, and probably never will again, I’ve been reminded to trust my instincts, that smarts don’t only come from a book and the power of tenacity. As it happens, all things on which my soul needed a bit of a refresher.

You can’t get that driving bumper-to-bumper in your SUV now, can you?

Jacquelin Cangro