Today I sat on the other side of the train 

 

The commute can be often described as a mundane and laborious routine, yet we neglect to think about those who make it possible. Hardworking, friendly people who work in train stations, drive buses and serve you your morning coffee. To you they may just be canvas faces with a painted on smile and a knack for making your caramel frappe just right, but we don’t remember that they have to commute to work – earlier than you think – and they are served by someone else, who’s served by someone else, and the list goes on. What I feel humans could be a little better at is their commute. 

 

As any other Londoner, I too get the morning train. I too get that little rush when you run to your platform and get there just as the 7:46 to Orpington pulls in, and unfortunately, I also sit there with my head buried into my phone or with headphones buried into my ears. I, like you, take no notice of those around me. An interesting thing to consider is why? Why do humans, when commuting- to work, school, home, or wherever – decide to isolate themselves as if everyone’s in their own world, but we just happen to bump shoulders as we pass?

There is, in fact, a beautiful poem written by T.S Eliot. It reads:

 

‘Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many

…

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet’ 

 

This poem explains the commuters of London, moving from A to B in complete individuality and with no acknowledgment of the lives happening around them. The narrative lyrics come from the devastating 7/7 Bombings of London Underground’s and TFL Bus services, and Eliot writes that only after such brutality, the city was exposed and vulnerable. This is the first time in the history of the London commute that people looked up and noticed each other.

 

Honestly, I am saddened that it took this much for humans to actually gain awareness of other humans, and this is not the only self-absorbed tendency we have. As a creature of habit, I always sit on the right side of the train; I step onto the train and head for the first two-seater on the right, and think nothing of it. This way, I know what I will see out the window, I know that oak means were nearly pulling into Chislehurst Station, but all of that changed on one Thursday morning. 

 

I sat on the other side of the train.

 

Simply, by choosing the parallel seat on my carriage my whole morning was different. I looked out the window and saw abundant fields, others on their commute, I saw everything I would have never seen. Just by sitting on the other side of the train. And I believe that to be metaphor. A metaphor for the absent-mindedness and short-sighted way we live, and move, and commute. I noticed things, and I saw other peoples lives.

 

I feel proud of myself for being able to witness the split-seconds of people’s lives as I sailed past on my train. I feel privileged to have witnessed the beautiful scenery of our area. However, I also feel disappointed, in myself and in commuters, because it was such a tiny thing that opened my eyes so much, and I question why I hadn’t done that the day before, or the day before that.

 

If we take this lesson into our lives, into small tasks like the morning commute, maybe we will acknowledge the kindness of your barista when they add an extra syrup pump for no extra cost, or when the bus driver waits for you to reach the doors rather than leaving you to do that awkward run/walk. I believe this simple recognition of people other than the videos on your phone, would make a huge impact on not only your life, but the lives of those you interact with. 

 

This impact is a total consequence from the fact that today I sat on the other side of the train.