Subway Stories 3 (or Tube Tales): Why in Cities Do We Want to Operate as Strangers?

Yesterday I was really missing New York because it was the New York City Marathon. I was having lots of fomo, wishing I was running, or at least cheering people on. It really is the most special day ever, coming together as a city, to support our community. Cheering for your friends, but also thousands of strangers. And in many ways, completing a shared journey with strangers, makes me think of Subway Stories. I should probably start calling this Tube Tales, but I’ve actually been taking buses way more, but there’s not really any good alliteration for that.

I think I took for granted how much I felt fully, authentically myself in New York. Perhaps because I am a New Yorker. I never wondered, oh, how do people do this here? or how am I supposed to be acting?, I am just me. Walking through the streets, I understand the rules of traffic, I know how to get everywhere, I walk fast, I know not to stop in the middle of the street like all of the tourists in Times Square. I am a New Yorker. Born and raised. I walk with confidence, I don’t look up at the buildings, well honestly I’m often filled with wonder so I sometimes do.

The Subway has its own whole set of unwritten rules that I never think about, but are ingrained in me. Most of the time, you are to yourself. Sure, you can observe people or stare into space, you can acknowledge someone, maybe looking them in the eye and smiling, but you don’t regularly talk-but it’s not unheard of. Certainly an old lady asking directions, or someone telling me they’ve read the same book, or if there’s a subway diversion, and certainly, if someone was actually in need of help. 

Well, to characterize how I act on the New York subway? I generally keep to myself. Headphones on and reading a book, but I’ve never worried about looking around, people watching. Often, that’s my favorite activity. As you’ve clearly seen from these stories. 

But London is quite different. People are just way more to themselves. No one looks at each other. Look at the adverts, look at your feet, look at your phone, look at your book, look at your nails. I had to learn to stop looking at people to seem normal (actually, I am me so I still do it). I wonder where their reserved nature comes from. Is it just because they’re told not to, insistent on following the rules? Or because it seems impolite? Or because they’re scared of vulnerability? Or intimacy? Or connection? 

A few months ago on a scorching hot day in London I decided to Tube home from Central London. A terrible idea. We were packed into the Tube like sardines, but I think in New York when it’s crowded like this, you would maybe smile at one of the people you’re practically dry humping, or at least acknowledge them somehow. But everyone was looking down, attempting to mind their own business. And we got to my stop and they wouldn’t open the doors. For about 20 minutes no announcements, just dripping sweat and no one acknowledging each other’s presence. I could barely breathe, claustrophobic, and now was going to be incredibly late for a Zoom meeting, and I may have felt at least a little bit better with some acknowledgement of our shared humanity, but nope. Silence from all. Not even shared sighs. Why? In New York City, this would be a moment where we would look at each other, acknowledging our mutual frustration, sharing a smile or rolling our eyes, or perhaps even ask each other, do you know what’s going on? I was shocked by everyone's need to act like nothing was happening. Later that evening I was at dinner with some of my English friends and they were like, oh yeah I’d wait 30 minutes at least to acknowledge anyone. WHY? Little stranger interactions are so beautiful.

I don’t think I realized how much I craved these connections. And I fear I’m changing. Conforming. But I don’t know if that’s a change I want. I think there are some elements, I’m realizing, no I think New Yorkers do this better. Or I don’t want to conform. I want to be here in London, but with me, which means, with parts of New York. And as this place becomes my home, that is something to ponder. How much of me is New York? And to root somewhere should you have to change? I think you can adapt, but I don’t want to hide parts of me. It’s the silly things like passing people on the street or running on the other side of the road or all the different words we say. But when you establish roots in a new place, how much do you become that place as well?

Especially as someone that thinks there’s so much value in connecting with strangers, it seems such an opportunity wasted to be so closed off to them.

However, a few weeks after my shock at the lack of acknowledgement from strangers, I had a redeeming moment. I got on the Tube, and funnily I think I was being held at the same stop. I was worried I was going to be late. But then I heard this guy singing so loud. So loud that it seemed like he was singing to perform for us like when guys start yelling “Showtime, showtime!!” on the New York Subway. But no, he had massive headphones on and was just singing really loud to himself, probably not even realizing how loud he was. Noise canceling headphones on, lost in the moment. It was actually quite an old throwback early 2000s song, I’m forgetting now what song exactly, maybe Demi Lovato? So I started talking to this girl and her family. She was probably like 14 or 16 and me and her dad were just joking about him as the Tube entertainment. The dad said I should join in. Granted, there is a chance they were tourists from somewhere, but it was really nice to have a connection. Even for a few moments. A stranger connection.

Maybe my favorite thing about the Subway is the moment of connection. When it doesn't feel like a means to an end that will be forgotten. Just like the commutes of yesterdays and tomorrows. Instead, it is a part of the journey. Where I am reminded, yes, I am floating on a rock, but with millions and millions of other people, also trying to find meaning and get through the day. Maybe it’s craving a reminder that we are not alone. Connecting with strangers is a rare special thing I cherish. 

So maybe it isn’t a question of better or worse or right or wrong. But it’s funny to ponder the social norms baked into us, that we learn from a young age. And then, when we get older, we make choices of which ones we assimilate to. Like even many of my friends who moved to New York from other places, they had to learn the unwritten Subway rules. But they also probably keep parts of who they were, and maybe they prefer it that way. We are all on our own slightly different, individualized journeys, trying to make homes, trying to commute. But I encourage you to experiment with thinking about it a little more as a journey. Trying to encourage those beautiful little stranger moments where we remind ourselves why we are here, and that nothing really matters, but also this is why it matters too.