I had managed to fit every single one of my personal belongings — including my pillows and duvet — into two suitcases. The cab driver that picked me up at Ronald Reagan National Airport in Washington DC eight years ago was impressed with my packing skills:

“Starting your freshman year and managed to get everything into two bags? Wow. Most people come with their parents in crowded vans or trucks.”

I was alone and a little overwhelmed. The cab driver could see the excitement and apprehension on my face. He offered to give me a quick tour of the city before dropping me off at my dorm.

I eagerly accepted.

The cab driver showed me the sights of DC and bought me lunch. He helped me take my two bags up the four flights of stairs to my Georgetown dorm room. He didn’t charge me for the cab ride, but instead left me saying:

“Consider me as your official Washington DC welcome party. Enjoy your time here.”

With that, he was gone.

Last week, I met that cab driver again.

After eight years, I didn’t actually recognize him as I passed him on the street. Instead, he stopped me:

“Looks like my welcome was so good that you decided to stick around.”

We went out for coffee and cupcakes. I shared my stories about leaving Georgetown and finally finding my way back to DC for work. He shared his stories about getting married and about his very recent, messy divorce.

I thanked him for being a wonderful welcome party all those years ago. He told me that no thanks were necessary; that it was thanks enough that I, one day, would help someone else feel welcome at a time when they felt very much alone.

I promised him that I would try. He smiled:

“By taking me out for coffee today, you just did.”

(Photo of taxi by Stephan Geyer.)