Your cold fists scrunch tufts of hair into birds nests
But now It’s time to go
Just put on your shoes
One at a time
Bite the skin on your lips
Give your fingers time to breath
Now put on that bag of artefacts
I feels heavier than before
Glance down and down
Further than that
Until the core of the earth can see you
Until it stares back
Can you hear it yet?
The groaning and the wheezing
The rumble and the racket
Your steed is here
Two steps too close
See the blur and the squabble
Cross your fingers in your pocket
And hope to breathe
Stand tall, don’t topple
Look past it, that’s far enough
Hand on heart, feel it beat
Remember that it’s there.
When I was 19 I used the London Underground on my own for the very first time. I’d started singing lessons in Pimlico and asked literally anyone I could think of asking to come with me because I was afraid of several things, namely:
- Getting killed by commuters for walking too slow or generally being a weak country impostor with NO OYSTER CARD
- Falling onto the tube tracks
- Falling down the escalator
- Falling up the escalator
- Getting so lost that I ended up in a dystopian version of Narnia
- Being kidnapped by the buskers who walk up and down the tube for not giving them spare change despite their unsettling, borderline aggressive enthusiasm; particularly the mariachi band that I’d seen that one time…
- Other human beings
- Eye contact with said human beings
I was socially anxious and cripplingly aware of it. I was a Level 97 introvert. But I wanted those damn lessons. I remember my brother teaching me exactly how to get to Pimlico station… straight from Euston to Pimlico… Victoria line… that’s blue… which blue?!… light blue… okay… I freaked out a little, but I managed it. I bought my ticket, I got on the train, then I got onto the tube, I made it there and back and I made zero enemies and was kidnapped zero times, I didn’t die and I didn’t end up in Brixton.
Recently I’ve been thinking about whether I could define myself as ‘brave’ in that moment, and it’s taken me a while to realise that bravery means different things to different people. For someone who wasn’t 19 year old me, travelling to London solo might have been the easiest thing in the world, talking to strangers without writing an entire script in their head first would have been natural, easy. But for people who suffer quiet battles and are scared to do or say things that other people think are trivial, for people who are like I was at that age, it’s hard.
I guess you could say we each have our own boggarts. If you’ve not read or seen Harry Potter, a boggart is a spirit which transforms itself into the worst fear of the person looking at it. We all have fears, some of us have plenty more than others and some have just one or two, but we are all afraid of something. I think that people forget that for some people the trivial things in life can be really terrifying. We need to realise that bravery comes when you fight your fears, no matter what they are or how small they may be. Being brave is being terrified and doing it anyway, because what you need to accomplish is more important.
Interestingly enough, I now live in London. I’ve gotten my bag stuck in the tube doors twice, met a one legged man with an eye patch on a late night tube journey home, been yelled at for trying to give a homeless man directions because he thought I was deliberately sending him wrong way AND walked up a down escalator. I’m not scared of the tube anymore.