Day 18 We Are Not as Alone as We Think

I spend quite a lot of time on the road, in transit between countries and lives. These travel days always carry a sense of uncertainty—there’s a vulnerability to them that I can’t quite shake. Will everything go to plan? Will I arrive on time?

It’s very easy for me to slip into an anxious mindset. I want to control the situation, but so much of it is simply beyond me. Oh, the joys of being human.

But a few years ago, I found a mental switch that helps pull me out of that spiral. I shift my attention away from myself and towards all the people who are making my journey possible.

I think about how slow and difficult travel was just a few centuries ago, and about the people who kept trying anyway—who imagined and built more efficient ways of moving through the world. I start to notice the layers of labour around me: the roads, the railway tracks, the airports. The people who built the train I’m sitting on, the driver at the front, the systems quietly holding everything together.

And slowly, my perspective changes. My heart fills with gratitude.

I begin to feel how held I am by humanity—by people long gone and those here with me now. There are things I do to contribute, of course, but there is also so much care carried by others. People I will never meet, or only ever interact with briefly.

The flight attendant who got up this morning, got dressed, pinned up her hair, knowing she would spend her day taking care of strangers. The staff preparing food, the people coordinating schedules, the quiet choreography behind it all.

Once you start noticing, the list of care just grows and grows.

In a globalised world that often feels too large to comprehend, it’s easy to feel lonely, insignificant, or isolated. But maybe care hasn’t disappeared—maybe it has simply changed form. Yes, we are held by friends and family, but we are also held by countless strangers.

We are deeply interconnected, whether we acknowledge it or not. And perhaps it is our denial of this that creates distance and fear. When we lean too far into distrust, we start to believe that we could isolate ourselves completely, build walls, and be safe behind them.

But that isn’t how we live. It has never been.

I feel a quiet sense of love for humanity in small moments—when I exchange a smile with someone, make a small joke, or share a brief conversation as they make a coffee or a sandwich. These interactions may be fleeting, but they matter.

They are a way of saying: I see you. Even if we never meet again, you are a full human in my eyes, and I appreciate your presence in this shared world.

I hope you are well, wherever you are.
Celine