For a carless person in a city with extremely limited public transit, Uber has been a lifesaver on more than one occasion. For those unfamiliar with the app, Uber connects riders with drivers using your phone’s GPS. Not only is the service incredibly convenient, it’s actually really affordable in Detroit – a 7-minute, 2-mile trip costs about $4. However, rather than its cost and convenience, my favorite aspect of riding with Uber in Detroit is something else altogether. My favorite aspect has to be the strangers whose cars I hop into (hey, mom and dad).

If you’re reading this, chances are you know how much I love engaging with new people (strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet, after all), and that you’re rolling your eyes at how ridiculous I am. But in all honestly, I have learned so much from my Uber drivers. More than once, my driver has been so enraptured in his trip down memory lane that he has taken a wrong turn on our actual physical journey. More than once, I’ve gotten out of the car thinking to myself that the cost of the ride would have been well worth it for the conversation alone.

As a transplant, it can be difficult to engage on a regular basis with new native Detroiters – you actively have to seek out such opportunities. However, with Uber, meaningful conversations with long-time locals are effectively delivered to your doorstep.

There was the retired Comcast field technician who made a boatload in his career and retired early, and was now using Uber to fund his backyard observatory and ever-expanding interest in space (pun intended). There was the Iraqi polyglot who spent his career translating for the U.S. military, who was speaking to his “Lovely Wife Luma” when I entered the car (Luma’s name was, adorably, saved as such on his iPhone).  There was the recent divorcee who was moonlighting as a driver to simply get himself out of the house while his kids were over at their mom’s place five nights a week. There was the elderly gentleman who married a woman he had unknowingly met at the roller rink when he was twelve (they’ve been married for over forty years now and have a host of grandkids), who described to me his idyllic childhood running free in Royal Oak Township, eating fruit right off the trees, and feeling rich despite having little. And there have been no shortage of Detroiters, born and raised, whose undying passion for the city impacted me far beyond the five-to-ten minute intervals I spent in their respective vehicles.

While I don’t claim to have had an enlightening conversation with every single Detroit driver I’ve met in the past nine months, these snippets only skim the surface of the stories I’ve heard along the way.  In the passenger seat, I have heard what people think of the city’s (re)development, why some fled the city for the suburbs, and why others still would never dare to do so. And I have listened to tales of family and friendship, love and loss, heartache and hardship.

These conversations have pushed me to make better use of my time, call my parents more often, and tell the people in my life that I care about them. They have inspired me to cherish my youth, spend less time in front of screens, and appreciate Detroit more than I thought possible. And most of all, they have encouraged me to keep asking questions and sparking conversations. Whether in the passenger seat or elsewhere, it’s amazing what you can learn from the people sitting right next to you.