the kindnesses of friends and strangers

Tonight I leaned hard on some wonderful people and then I went off to do something that I was anxious about, and while it didn't go smashingly it was at least okay, and then I left, cried on my friend's shoulder, said goodbye to her, walked down into the station, sat down on a bench between a biker chick and a teenage boy, pulled out my novel, but couldn't actually stop myself from starting to cry again.

But here is where the miracle happens.

After I've been crying for two minutes or so, the biker chick turns to me and says, "Do you need help with anything? Are you okay?"

She's a stranger. In Sweden.

And I manage to say something about no, it's not anything that happened tonight, it's just old stuff.

She says, "Oh, I'm really sorry to hear that you're sad. Are you sure you don't need help? Are you going home now?"

"Yes," I say, "I'm going home."

We talk for a while, about why love hurts and why life hurts; why we take on the hurts because it means we get to have the moments when things are soaring as well. She doesn't say anything new (except of course that initial kindness, as rare as it was sweet), but she's tall and reassuring and I find myself talking about why I'm hurting in more abstract terms, calming down. Then she boards her train and says that she hopes my night clears up and that things keep getting better, and I smile as she goes.