The Train Series 1: Stories

There isn't usually much space on my train. It's often crammed with commuters, all silent, maybe plugged into some music or wisdom through their headphones. There's very little interaction - some passive-aggressive requests for people to move down, some exchanged smiles when someone does indeed move down. If something goes wrong - the train stops - there may be some shared grumbles.

Once, a man standing near me collapsed. Blacked out completely. And suddenly everyone moved. Two people next to him reacted fastest. They held him up, so he didn't crash to the floor and hurt himself. All around was suddenly concern. I offered some water, and he didn't take it, but a woman next to me took the lead, took my water and made him drink. He was looked after by the seven people stood within a 90cm radius of him until we got to London Waterloo. And then, before I had even got off the train, someone was speaking to a member of station staff, who was already calling a first aider and moving towards the man. Even though the man said he was fine.

It's easy to think, especially in a city like London, that we aren't connected. That people are rude and grumpy. But actually, people do look out for each other, far more than you think. Those caring don't always show themselves, but they are there.

Today, my train is quite empty. I think the one just in front must have everyone on it. It's spacious. I could actually sit down if I wanted to, but I quite like standing and it's not far.

I'm not talking to anyone, but that doesn't mean I'm not connected. I'm writing this on my phone, and this short piece might connect me to ten people, maybe twenty, maybe more, maybe one. Probably at least my mum.

It's easy to think that when someone is on their phone they are being insular, and they aren't out in the world, relating. But usually, when I'm on my phone, I'm interacting with more other people than most people in my grandparents' generation did at any one point in their whole life. Maybe I'm on my phone in the pub, with the football on, chatting to my friends across England about the match and exchanging views with a Times journalist and some strangers about the evolution of the English language (as I did on Sunday).

It's easy to tell yourself stories about the people around you, but things like these remind me that they aren't always true.

This is the first in a short series of pieces of writing, written during my 12 minute train journey into London. They (probably) won't all be about trains. You can read the other pieces in the series, and my other posts, here. 

I am a coach and leadership development professional. You can read more about me on my website: www.robbieswalecoaching.com.