Wet and wintery weather has combined with the dark mornings and urine-scented public transport system to motivate me. That and my yearly bonus. I am finally a car owner again. Not much of a car, but a car nonetheless.

I was hoping that having a car would suddenly solve all of my problems, but it has not. I think I’m going to have some more to think about again.

Strangely enough, I will miss catching public transport on a daily basis. Sitting on the train each day, travelling to and from work, I found myself with ample time to study the human species. This has always been a pastime of mine. Many people observe nature — insects, birds, three-toed sloths — but most forget that we are one of the more interesting and confusing things on this planet.

If you watch movies or television, you see a picture of humanity that includes beautiful people wearing perfect clothes. Sure, there are the drunks, the homeless winos, and the occasional not-so-perfect-looking character actor, but the vast majority of fictional people are quite perfect. They have neat and tidy hair that never looks like it needs a brush. They do not stumble over their words while on their outdated mobile phones. They do not have cat or dog fur stuck to their mismatching socks. They do not have crooked noses, or obvious comb-overs, or bad teeth, or little pot-bellies hiding underneath their faded shirts.

Real people are not like television people, but that is not why real people are so interesting. Real people are interesting because real people are weird.

No, really; they’re quite odd.

Despite being imperfect, many people strive to be like these human-like appearances that they see on their televisions and in their magazines. They fuss over the fact that their shirt is creased after a day at work. They bleach their teeth until they’re a lovely shade of computer-enhanced white. They hide moles and blemishes under a layer of makeup so thick that you can no longer tell their natural skin colour.

Why do they do this? They do it all in a desperate attempt to look just like everyone else. And there is the irony. Busy as they are trying to look perfect, they don’t notice that no one else around them is perfect.

Who would want to be perfect? Our imperfections are what make us interesting. Our imperfections are what make us who we are.

One of the most interesting people that I met on the train, and one of the very few that actually spoke to me, was a guy I tended to refer to as “urine man”. He is a 50ish year old man who you could smell from across the carriage. He looked at people in that way that made them uncomfortable. I saw him on a regular basis, and often wondered what his story was.

One night he introduced himself to me. His name was Steve, and I immediately understood that he was metally disabled in some fashion. It was the yelling that gave it away. He yelled each of his short, simple sentences at full volume. He was very proud to tell me that he had seen me on the train before. Every Thursday. He recognised my beard and my clothes. Apparently I normally stand over there (on the other side of he carriage). He hadn’t seen me on a Tuesday before. That was probably because he normally doesn’t go out on Tuesdays.

The conversation went on, back and forth in short sentences. I tried to answer him at a normal volume, all the time holding my breath. The stench of stale urine was overwhelming.

When he finally left the train, I had to laugh. It was the strangest conversation I’ve had in years. And yet, at the same time, it was quite touching. Most of the people on the train ignore each other, and here was someone else who was willing to admit that they sit there and observe. Here was someone who was willing to let go of the pursuit of the perfect and to just live. Here was someone who was happy with their place in life.

It’s funny, but I’m going to miss that urine smell.