Every morning before work I have a little ritual. I go to Pret, buy myself coffee and settle into my favourite spot by the big window. It’s my time, a little space between home and work where I can sit, enjoy my coffee, watch the world go by and get myself into the right headspace for the day ahead.
I’m a people watcher and always have been. But, a few weeks ago, something happened during my morning coffee that made me look at people and the way we connect with each other, a little differently. It was the first day back at school after the summer holidays. As I sat drinking my coffee, I watched the morning unfold outside the window. People rushing to work, children heading off to school, the usual hustle and bustle of everyday life.
I spotted three little girls. They must have been somewhere between five and eight years old. They were walking along holding hands, all in a row, wearing their lovely new, crisp school uniforms. They looked so excited and were full of life, anticipation and that wonderful energy children have when they’re looking forward to something. As they passed the window, on of the little girls suddenly stopped. She looked straight at me and then with the biggest, most beautiful smile on her face, she started waving at me. Not a little polite wave either. A proper, enthusiastic, whole-arm wave. Well, of course I waved back and just as enthusiastically. The two other girls joined in and so there we were, three little girls on their way to school and a woman sitting in a coffee shop, grinning and waving at each other through a window like old friends.
It was such a simple moment, but I cannot tell you how much joy I felt. It was pure, spontaneous human connection. There was no awkwardness, no embarrassment and no wondering what the other person might think. Just three little girls who saw another human being and decided to share a little happiness.
It got me thinking. Why don’t we do that as adults? When did we stop seeing each other? As I continued drinking my coffee, I started paying closer attention to the people walking past. What I noticed made me feel a little sad. Almost everyone was looking down. Lots of heads buried in phones, earphones in. Faces serious and people rushing from one place to another, seemingly lost in their own thoughts, worries and responsibilities. It was like watching a sea of people moving on autopilot. All these human beings, walking alongside one another, yet barely acknowledging each other’s existence. Nobody looked up and nobody really saw anybody else.
I found myself wondering what happens to us as we grow up. As children, most of us seem to have this wonderful ability to connect so naturally. We smile, we wave, we laugh, we acknowledge each other without overthinking it. But, somewhere along the way, many of us seem to lose that freedom. We become self-conscious, guarded and distracted. Perhaps we’re afraid of looking silly or worried about being rejected. Perhaps, we’re simply so caught up in the busyness of life that we forget to look around us. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about those three little girls. So I decided to try a little experiment.
For the next few weeks, as I sat in my usual spot at Pret, I made a conscious effort to look up and make eye contact with the people walking past. When someone looked back, I smiled. That’s it, nothing complicated and nothing extraordinary – just one human being acknowledging another. At first, the results were interesting. Most people didn’t notice me at all. They were too busy looking at their phones, rushing to work or staring straight ahead. Some people caught my eye for a split second before quickly looking away. You could almost sense the discomfort - “Oh no, a stranger has looked at me. Quick, look somewhere else!” I get it. We’re not really used to strangers making eye contact with us, are we?
But then, there were the others. People who looked back. The people who allowed their eyes to meet mine. When I smiled, they smiled too and something rather lovely happened. For that brief moment, it felt as though the world slowed down. Two complete strangers, who knew absolutely nothing about each other, sharing a moment of connection. Just a smile with no words, no expectations and no need for anything from one another. Every time it happened, I felt this wonderful sense of joy. An expansiveness. As though something inside me had opened up a little. From the expressions on their faces, I could see something had shifted for them too. It made me realise just how much we could communicate without saying a single word.
Then something happened that made the whole experiment even more meaningful. At first, she was simply another person I exchanged a smile with. But as the days went by, something changed. I began to recognise her approaching and I noticed that as she got closer to the coffee shop, her eyes would start searching for the window. Searching for me. It was as though she was looking forward to that tiny moment of connection we had begun sharing each morning. I realised I was looking forward to seeing her too. We didn’t know each other’s names. We’d never spoken. We knew absolutely nothing about each other’s lives. Yet somehow, we’d created this this little morning ritual together. A smile through a coffee shop window. A moment of being seen. Then, one morning, she came inside. She approached me, introduced herself and thanked me.
She thanked me for smiling at her every morning. She told me how good it made her feel. How that little exchange lifted her mood and helped her feel better as she went into work. I was genuinely touched. What had started as a spontaneous moment with three little girls had turned into something I hadn’t anticipated. A simple smile had become something another person looked forward to. Something that made a difference to how she felt as she started her day and the beautiful thing was, she had been doing exactly the same thing for me.
That experience has stayed with me because I think, underneath all our busyness, distractions, responsibilities and the armour we sometimes wear to get through life, there’s a very human desire to connect. To be noticed, to be acknowledged, to feel that, even for a fleeting moment, somebody sees us. I’m not talking about those grand gestures or deep conversations with strangers, but those tiny, everyday moments that we so often overlook – a smile, a warm glance, a friendly hello. A moment of eye contact that says, without words, I see you.
We have no idea what somebody else is carrying as they walk past us. They might be worried about money, struggling with something at home, feeling lonely, anxious about the day ahead. Or they might simply be having an ordinary Tuesday. We don’t know and that’s the point. We don’t have to know someone’s story to offer them a moment of warmth. Of course, not everyone will want to engage and that’s absolutely fine. We all have our own boundaries, moods and reasons for keeping our heads down. But I wonder how many opportunities for connection we’re missing simply because we’ve forgotten to look up,
I’ve thought a lot about those three little girls since that morning. They didn’t know it, but they reminded me of something important. Something so simple that perhaps we shouldn’t need reminding. Human connection doesn’t always require words. Sometimes it begins with the courage to look up and smile – maybe that’s something we could all do with a little more of.
So, here’s my invitation to you. The next time you’re out and about, whether you’re walking to work, waiting for a bus, standing in a queue or buying your morning coffee, take a moment to look up. Notice the people around you and if you catch someone’s eye, perhaps offer them a smile, simply because there’s another human being standing in front of you. You never know what that tiny moment might mean to them. Or what it might mean to you. After all, a woman walking past a coffee shop told me that a smile through a window made her mornings better and three little girls reminded me just how beautiful it can feel to be human. Maybe we haven’t lost our ability to connect after all. Maybe we’ve just forgotten how simple it can be.
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