You may have noticed that I’ve been feeling pretty perky recently. My summer was a delight. I had fun, rest, time to recharge by the sea, and opportunity to be inspired and rejuvenated by the people and places I love. Last week, as I entered the ‘going back to school’ season, gathering up my metaphorical adult pencil case and donning whatever version of school uniform I wear these days, I noticed that my energy was still buoyant (it’d only been a week so I should bloody well hope so, but anyway…). I noticed it when I bounded into the client venue last Tuesday despite the 05.20 start, genuinely delighted to see the team, and sensing the energy I was bringing into the room. I noticed it when I wandered happily through the backstreets of Lancaster after a long day to find the Bed and Breakfast where I was staying for one night before meeting another client the following day, and how my energy landed with the guy who greeted me with smiles and warmth as he showed me to my room. And I noticed it on the way back to London on Tuesday afternoon. I had boarded a sweaty train, where no seat reservations were showing and the aisle was packed with suitcases. While my seat was free, I was told there was a guy sitting there who had gone to get a drink and that I would have to explain to him when he got back.
I shoved my case onto the overhead ledge as I nestled into my window seat and prepared myself for the conversation. The only clue to the soon-to-be-standing traveller was the book he had left on the table: “Psychedelics: The revolutionary drugs that could change your life – a guide from the expert” by Professor David Nutt. I was interested in the book, having read a little about the therapeutic benefit of micro dosing psilocybin for some people with enduring mental health problems. I tried to imagine what the bloke would be like that was reading this book.
Before I could decide, a young man arrived, handsome and casually dressed, with a smile on his face and a purring Glasgow accent. I explained the situation and he explained very apologetically to my neighbour that he would be the one to have to move as that was his reserved seat. Ticket proof provided, the exchange of seats took place and I found myself sitting next to the owner of the book. Before I could remember that I was not the sort of person that speaks to people on trains, especially really hot crowded ones, I heard myself say to him:
“I’ve been noseying at your book. It looks really interesting”
“Oh it is”, he says. “Do you know about David Nutt? He’s the psychiatrist who was fired for saying Class ‘A’ drugs were safer than riding horses. I’m really enjoying it”
“Are you reading it for professional or recreational reasons?” I asked, grinning sheepishly at my sneaky curiosity.
He smiled, appearing not to mind:
“Just interested really. My Dad’s a psychiatrist too and is a bit sceptical about some of it, so we’ve had some interesting debates. Am just going back to London after being home with my folks to celebrate my birthday”.
“Oh happy birthday!”
“Thanks! Do you want to have a look at the book?” he asked, handing me the hardback.
I leafed through the chapter headings and we chatted about some of the themes. Gradually the conversation drifted on to Scotland, my time living in Edinburgh, how I sort of wished I had tried Glasgow, how I had always liked being called ‘pal’ by Glaswegian taxi drivers, about his munro bagging (AKA summiting high peaks), how he had done just 28 while his dad had done all of them once and was part way through them a second time. He said he had done a lot of hiking during the pandemic, that he loved the opportunities it provided for good chat with his mates, that he loved the fact it is healthy and food for body and mind. He told me his whole professional career had taken place so far with the backdrop of Covid (he was a few years out of Uni) and what that had been like. We talked about virtual working, about how my job had changed, about how he had got into sales, how he liked it, how he had studied sports science. As the hot train sweated its way south through Preston, Wigan and Warrington, we nattered happily away.
“Where do you live now?” I asked.
“Oh, I live in a place called Earlsfield. Do you know it?”
“Ha ha! That’s so funny. I own a flat In Earlsfield. I lived there for 4 years before I moved to Edinburgh and have been renting it ever since. Which road do you live on?”
And yes, you guessed it. He and his girlfriend live on the next road to mine. What are the chances?!
After that, I dozed, he read and soon we were pulling into Euston. He had his bag all ready to leap off.
“How was the book? Did you finish it?” I asked.
“Yeah I did actually. Would you like it?” he said, unzipping his bag and rummaging around.
“Oh no, no. I didn’t mean that.”
“No, really please have it. What’s your name? Mine’s Stuart.”
“I’m Kate.”
“Really nice to meet you Kate.” And with that, he turned, got off the train and disappeared into the London crowd.
As I pulled my case down from the overhead and stuffed the book inside, I smiled. I was so glad I had started the conversation. I’d so enjoyed chatting to him. Just a chance encounter with another soul, a peep into another human’s world and his into mine. No complication. No need to prolong it or hang onto it. A funny coincidental connection. Some shared interests and experiences. And an interesting book to read and help remember the occasion.
I thanked the holiday energy for its gift and headed home.
Why do I tell you this story? What’s it got to do with coaching? Or living well? Or leadership? Well, it’s got a lot to do with the power and joy of connection; a lot to do with the surprises that can emerge when we step out of our usual ways of being; a lot to do with how or whether we choose to engage, reach out, ask and be curious. And all of those things are relevant to coaching, living and leading.
How many people do you walk past every single day? On your way to work? On your way around the supermarket? On the bus? The tube? In the lift? In the office? Servers in restaurants? The people queuing next to you for coffee? People at cash desks? The postman? People whose paths you cross in the street? I wonder how many it is each week (not counting the days you work from home and see no-one! Those days don’t count). In London it’s hundreds. I wonder how many gems are in there, waiting to be revealed to you with a simple splash of friendly energy and a smidgeon of curiosity.
My invitation to you is to be a little more open to the world around you, to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the next week and see what comes of it. If you do, or if you have recently, let me know about it in the comments below. And if you can think of nothing worse, maybe book a holiday to the Cornish coast. It might just change your mind.