i wish more people talked to each other on the subway

but maybe that's just me

I know, I know — it’s an unspoken rule. You keep to yourself on the subway; you keep your head down; you blast your music through your headphones and you mind your own business.

Lately, I have committed myself to trying to be more present and more in the moment instead of living in my head, distracted by what I am thinking and listening to. I have been doing almost everything without the cushion of headphones — going on walks, completing my work throughout the day, riding the subway, etc — and taking in the sounds of my life and of the city.

For the most part, the quietness and stillness is welcomed, almost comforting, allowing me to soak in the sounds of New York and reminding me that I live here. But in being present, however, the silence of the subway cars is something that has really stuck out to me.

Especially when I am feeling sad; especially when the occasional loneliness of the city really starts to take a toll on me — I can’t help but to look up and around at the strangers sitting next to me and wonder if they are feeling the same, if maybe sometimes they have an urge to whisper a “hello” or maybe even just offer a smile to someone they make eye contact with on the train.

During a recent Sunday morning bus ride downtown, a young girl who cannot be more than 5 or 6 years old takes a seat across from me on the back of the bus while her mother watches on from one of the front seats. The little girl is sitting alone for a few blocks, her legs dangling a few inches off the ground, her pink sparkly ballet flats swinging.

A couple of minutes later, another mother and similarly-aged young girl board the bus, and both little girls’ faces light up. The newer bus rider approaches and whispers “hello” to the little girl already sitting, taking the seat next to her and pointing to the sparkly shoes I was just taking note of myself.

At first I am convinced the two little girls must know each other, that they must live in the neighborhood and attend the same school or something along those lines. A few more stops confirm that these little girls have never met before, that they were strangers before they waved to each other and started chatting about their favorite pairs of shoes.

Maybe 10 minutes later, one of the girl’s mothers calls out to her, letting her know their stop is approaching. The little girl stands up, waves to her new friend she will likely never see again, and says, “I have to go now — bye.” The other little girl simply waves back.

I thought about this whole interaction for the rest of the afternoon, and I couldn’t help but feel inspired by their brief but sincere exchange. Maybe even a little jealous.

Any time I have had an interaction with a stranger on my early morning commute to work, it has made my day and I have probably recounted the experience with at least five of my friends, recalling how lovely it was.

Recently, I have seen more than five girls reading Sunrise On The Reaping on the train. I have wanted to say something to them every time, noting how the book is one of the best I have read this year, yet I never have out of fear of bothering them or disrupting their peace.

On another note, my single friends and I often commiserate about not being able to meet any eligible men in New York City, but at least twice a week I find myself doing a double take at a handsome man on the train. Are they actually eligible? There is obviously only one way to find out — and I don’t know why we can’t bring ourselves to say a harmless hello.

I am not sure if anyone else feels the same way I do, or if all other people riding the MTA truly do value their quiet alone time on the trains after hours of being constantly stimulated throughout all other hours of their long days in the city. I know I definitely have days where I want to be left alone, and the silence is truly welcomed, but most times, I would always welcome a brief, harmless interaction with a friendly stranger.

We’ll see if I ever choose to do anything about these feelings, or if I will continue to sit in silence on the subway, forever, wishing I had the nerve to point to the fabulous shoes of the woman next to me.