Here Comes Everybody
Season 1, #4: Daytalking's relationship to, well, relationships ... and a segue into Nightwalking's Season 2
Most of my dreams are about strangers—that is, people I don’t recognize from any other time in my life—which means any family, friends or, hell’s bells, old loves.
It’s gotten so regular that I’ve tried to nail their characters down in writing, when I awaken, in case I actually run into them in real life. But their features are vague—they’re like pure emotion (I’m guessing that’s my emotion) so it hasn’t been easy figuring this out. But I’ll keep trying.
What’s the meaning behind this sort of dream pathology? Is my brain trying to populate my imagination with new people so I feel less lonely?
Good questions.
However, if true, I’m not sure it’s working.
Fifteen years ago, over a single year, my parents died. I was close to them both. Since then I’ve lost a lot of people—more losses than gains. It’s hard to make friendships later in life, that’s true. And given the times we’re currently living through, most people are hewing closer to those they trust and avoiding people they don’t. It’s hard to know who’s helpful or harmful. A single harmful person can create a world of hurt. You yourself could be that “single harmful person” and not realize it. When I encounter new people, I try to ask a lot of questions. If they feel that’s off-putting, then “there’s my answer.” Some people don’t mind. It’s a grab bag. A lot of times indifference is an outright blessing.
My recent trip to the UK proved that, given a chance, people will help you. That happened on my first full day (after catching up on sleep from an overnight flight), which was Friday, Oct. 13. It rained and drizzled nearly all day in central London, but I was determined to get out and about so packed my umbrella and hit the street.
At one point I ended up in front of the Savoy Hotel along the Strand—Hey… I thought, That’s from Notting Hill!
Must investigate!
So I bounded inside and spoke with the concierges at front reception—yes, they had two bars, the American bar, and another down the stairs and to the left.
“That’s the one I want!” I said.
When I got there I headed straight in but was pulled back by a receptionist shouting “Sir! Sir!” Just behind her were three guys snickering and shaking their heads. One of them, named Roger, said to me, “Fuck ’em, mate. We’re going to a pub. Join us.”
So that’s what I did.
The four of us ducked into the first pub we came across and they bought me a pint. Roger had a Mohawk cut and told me he worked in social services. We all talked about music—Roger was a big fan of The Clash back in the day (he revealed he was 57 years old). The three of them were old friends having a night out so I only joined them for one pint and we were all out the door and back into the rain where we split up.
Suddenly disoriented, I walked along the Strand trying to course-correct back toward Soho.
That’s where I ran into my Charon for the night, who steered me toward my destination—but fortunately didn’t lead me into Hades.
His name was Duncan and I instantly recognized him as a Scotsman—“Glasgow or Edinburgh?” I asked. “Midlands,” he replied. He was in his early 50s and I couldn’t tell if he was drunk, homeless, or just wandering the streets on a visit. I said I was lost and looking for Chinatown.
“I’m goin’ that way. Just follow me.”
He led the way, bantering with people as we shuffled through the wet streets. I was getting soaked with rain so when I opened my umbrella he growled: “Put that away! I’ve no need for it!”
The thing I learned about walking in London is everything is actually quite close—it just seems far away. Maybe that’s my metaphor for Daytalking and relationships in general: You might feel lonely, but the remedy for that loneliness could actually be close at hand.
Walking along, I learned Duncan (I couldn’t remember if this was his first or last name) had family in Scotland—grandparents still alive, and a mother, but he was reluctant to talk more about family. We walked through Chinatown and were suddenly at Shaftesbury Avenue. I immediately recognized where I was.
“Fancy buyin’ me a drink?” Duncan said.
“I’d be happy to buy you a meal as well!” I replied.
“Nah, I’m needin’ none of tha’.”
We stood there for a while and I was feeling exhausted and in need of food. “Well, thank you anyways,” I think I said.
And here’s where my memory is vague, but there was the following exchange. Who said it first alters the entire meaning of the scene, and I’ve tried to replay it in my head. The best I can come up with is Duncan said it first, probably after I offered to buy him dinner and he demurred. He clapped his hands on my shoulders and said, “You’re a good man, mate.”
“You’re a good man, too.”
Then we said goodbye and turned in opposite directions.
This is where Daytalking morphs into Nightwalking.
As this is the last post of Season 1 on Daytalking, we head into the Nightwalking of Season 2. Kinda have goosebumps as this post wasn’t planned to segue so neatly into it, but here goes nothing:
Like the couple locked arm-in-arm ahead of me as I headed toward the Savoy Hotel bar (in the photo above), I’m haunted by strangers I met while traveling (much like the “strangers” in my dreams).
In my notebook I jotted down:
My breakfast server at Balans #34 (whose name I failed to get but who was so kind to me every time I was there).
My homeward bound flight companion (who didn’t want to talk, only watch movies).
Steve and Joel at their Greek Street whiskey shop they own.
The surly woman at the Soho Pret.
A mother and her apple-cheeked toddler waiting for the train out of Worcester.
Roger and his two pals at the Savoy.
…and Duncan, my night ferryman.
All the faces coming at me on the street—people locked in whatever shifts and twists and turns their lives were taking them…
Lives I will likely never encounter again—just like mine will never rejoin theirs. Add to that my losses of fifteen years ago.
It gives me chills, but the truth is it is the same for all of us. We may feel close to some people, but then they’re gone, as did my parents in 2008. When I was younger it was like an endless reception line of new faces: Here Comes Everybody. That moment includes the giddy excitement of “Where will this lead? How will this ‘story of us’ turn out in the end?”
Two days after arriving home, it hit me hard.
There Goes Everybody.
I ask you: That’s not true, is it?
There are always new beginnings; it’s just that sometimes I can’t see it.
It could be right around a corner—a new face, an old familiar face, a different place, or something recognizable but strangely altered.
I don’t know. That’s part of the mystery and wonder of being alive.
Nightwalking needn’t be scary, but it is a tad cramped and lonely. If it has value, it’s in the longing. And that—THAT is a form of desire. Desire has many outlets, some “healthier” than others (one of which is curiosity, which will lead us to Stargazing, after the beginning of 2024).
If there’s a progression, it usually goes like this: Daytalking, then Nightwalking, and finally Stargazing. They’re equally important, although Nightwalking often gets short shrift.
Next month I’m happy to dig into why that is and how you can “thrive” during “Nightwalking Season.” It isn’t easy, but it takes some practice.
Meanwhile here’s a recap on Daytalking from last year:
Cheers and thank you for subscribing to StoryShed!
See you in November!
Chris writes via email (he was unable to post directly to Substack comments for some weird reason): "Travel, like life, offers the fun and excitement of meeting new people, but also the sadness that you will meet someone that you’d love to spend more time with but obviously can’t. How great that you were able to connect with people across the pond last month. Next summer I hope to do the same."
What a lovely post, I know, I'm late to the party but we'll done for walking in London in the rain, meeting and talking to people, entering the Savoy, being guided by a Scotsman, all of which are potentially either scary or life enhancing, or both. The bit that really unsettled me was your attempt to engage someone sitting next to you on an aeroplane in conversation - I dread that happening to me and I can't explain why but could make the excuse that I am English!