As if I didn’t already stand out enough as a foreigner in rural villages in Ecuador, industrial cities in China, remote communities in Thailand, and townships in South Africa, I continued to go on my daily runs. The habit inevitably drew curious stares; in most of these places, exercise for the sake of exercise is unfamiliar. Furthermore, many of these areas never saw visitors, no less white ones, and there I was, a real live blond in the flesh.

Initially, I ran as I always had, in my own world of pounding feet, pulsing muscles, and rousing music: alone, in my zone. Still, I noticed locals gawking at this strange and unusual sight. It was in no way unfriendly, but it made me uncomfortable to merely ignore it or pretend I didn’t notice. I quickly assumed the habit of smiling at those I passed, raising my hand in greeting. Some people found my wave even more baffling, but by and large, this acknowledgment completely changed the way I was perceived.

Some folks cheered my progress, others jogged alongside me for a dozen paces. In smaller communities, they came to recognize me and expect my regular passes. Even though these interactions were fleeting, they stand out to me as moments of genuine, cross-cultural engagement. There was nothing more gratifying than a smile returned, acceptance of my presence. For two strangers to hold each other’s attention for just a moment is to recognize someone else’s humanity. We may not know each other. We may be different. However, we can still connect through this universal gesture.

After six months abroad, acknowledging others in this way had become second nature, not just on runs, but as I walked anywhere. It wasn’t until I returned to the United States that I realized how precious it had been. I understood it during my first run back in New York City. In some ways, I was home. But in others, I was alone. Anonymous. I could no longer smile at strangers – not only would they think me peculiar, but they often didn’t even offer eye contact. I resolved to try, but the only responses I got were whistles and a bewildered glower.

Even though I missed the unguarded smiles during my runs, I came to see casual friendliness between strangers elsewhere: people offer up their subway seat, hold the elevator, prop open a door. Thank them. It took sixth months abroad for me to understand the power of a casual gesture to forge genuine connections. Now home, I cherish them.