Walking through Liverpool Street station in the rush hour

 Yesterday I had to walk through Liverpool St Station during the rush hour, crossing its crowded concourse, even busier than in the picture above. For those outside the UK, this is one of London's busiest terminus stations and has well over 100,000 people passing through each day. 

I was entranced by the unconscious dance that we all created on our different paths across the concourse. Hundreds of people moving in every direction, but not a single collision that I saw. It reminded me of one of those motorbike display teams where two lines of motorbikes intersect but pass each other without touching. But the bikes only go in two directions, and here in the station people could cross in any direction. 

I felt the way in which I was judging all the movements of people coming towards me, from the right, from the left, standing still, even following me. The computation of where to put my foot next did not seem to come from my conscious mind. It felt almost reflexive, instinctive, like the movements of thousands of starlings when they fly in 'murmurations' in our winter months. They seem to create a living organism, and our movements in the station seemed to be doing the same.

I remembered what I had been told about the things that humans found easy or difficult and the things that computers found easy or difficult. Computers can easily do long and complicated calculations as long as all elements can be pinned down and processed. But they find it hard to complete an action such as picking up a cup, because so much has to be observed, adjusted for and calculated (distance down and across, weight, strength of grip.. etc). But these are things that humans are adapted to find easy. We are the tool-users par excellence. 

And the 'not bumping into other people' skill requires so much complex observation and calculation: Is that person moving in a straight line or turning? Are they walking steadily or speeding up? Do I have time to make that gap? Is that person distracted and may not see me? 

I don't mean that we consciously ask ourselves these questions, but some part of our brain does, and makes us move or stop to maximize efficiency and avoid damage. And I am sure that there is much more to it than tracking a set of movements and paths like air traffic control. I think we must be making assessments based on other assumptions: Is she angry? Is he drunk? Are those two distracting each other? Is that tourist completely lost? Can he really walk with his eyes on his mobile and still not bump into people?. We are picking up and then discarding a whole range of visual and behavioural and social clues as we pass through the crowd.

Because I did not have a train to make in the next minute nor was I late for work (oh retirement, you are such a joy!) I was, I admit, able to enjoy the feeling and spectacle of all this interaction with a bit more leisure and pleasure than I feel the commuters could muster. But, come on, thinking of that elaborate dance, is it not marvellous?

And does it not remind you that it is by being out in the world that we are most truly alive? However much we enjoy reading our books, or scrolling on our phones, or sitting tapping out blog posts, it is only in the real world of encounters with other humans that we can be fully human. You don't even need to know these people, just interact with them, and them with you. And keep this dance of life going.