Crying in the city
Or, London provides
People say London is a mean place, but I’ve never found that to be true. You open yourself up to it and it opens itself up to you.
Overwhelmed with multiple sadnesses on the Picadilly Line, I take a moment just to cry on a bench at Leicester Square station, eyes closed, feeling the waves of people tumble past me.
A light touch on my shoulder. A young woman sits down next to me, offers a tissue – gratefully accepted – and a hug – gracefully declined. Another touch, and she’s off about her day.
You can find the village in the city – and in the future city I hope there are lots of opportunities for this kind of random encounter. We all need the kindness of strangers, the reach of human empathy from someone not steeped in your own context. Too often we try and design those out, but if you create the opportunities for people to make random connections, they will step into them.
I feel a little better already.