A witch got on at Paddington station
There is a fabulous children's book called A Witch Got On At Paddington Station, by Dyan Sheldon, illustrated by Wendy Smith. I think all five of us read it as kids growing up. If you don't know it, it's a lovely story all set on a traditional London bus. A witch gets on, very excited to visit her sister. She announces frequently to the bus, to the conductor and to her fellow passengers “I'm going to visit my sister!”. The other passengers are grumpy and disinterested; the conductor tells her she simply can't bring her broom on board. Gradually, the witch works her magic (literally) on all the people on the bus until (not to spoil the ending but) all the passengers are happy, singing, laughing and surrounded by flowers, kittens, stars, toucans, cookies and all other manner of wonderful things that has fallen out of the witch's bag.
I was reminded of this story this week ahead of my sister's wedding this weekend. I feel a little like this witch, telling anyone who will listen at any opportunity that I'm off to my sister's wedding! Sometimes, in an otherwise grumpy setting (like tubes, buses, queues), one person's enthusiasm can seem misplaced. There is an overt un-subtleness (almost as clunky-seeming as that word) about big smiles and loud announcements in public places, that is so often frowned upon as being against the usual British sentiment.
Much like the witch on the bus, we all have the ability (magic) to bring about change in unexpected ways - all in the space of a London bus ride. There is something symbolic about how the tousle between the witch (unnamed; deliberate?) and the bus conductor causes the bag to burst open and all those wonderful presents for her sister to spill out into the bus. In fighting for her right to remain on the bus (the conductor isn't happy about her singing, you see) she brings about change. I imagine in a modern version of the book (it was published in 1991), that everyone would look up from their phones once they noticed parrots landing in their laps and vines growing up walls of the bus (although probably followed by live-streaming of the magical events, but who could blame them?).
My point is this: we can all have a proverbial bag of wonders waiting to burst open, especially, perhaps, when we are being challenged, choosing to bring about magical mayhem, rather than anger and arguments. We can choose to express our excitement and good news to the world, in the hope that our smile brings about a ready smile in another. We might see the world as a brighter place when we are looking forward to something, and our perspective offers someone else a chance to consider the same for themselves.
I'm not, of course, disregarding a sensitivity to another's pain or suffering by announcing our own good fortune, but rather recognising that even a smile or a conversation that distracts can feel like a welcome relief. (In sculpture, a relief is a work in which the figures are projected from a supported background and comes from the Latin meaning ‘to raise’ . I think it can be nice to consider a relief as a kind of supported raising upwards and outwards, however momentary, away from some heaviness that might be holding us down.)
Mindful moment: When you feel excited about something, (e.g. a holiday, social event, birthday, gig or festival) do you share this openly with others? When others share their good news with you, how does it make you feel? Can a simple conversation with the barista (if you drink as much coffee as me) even slightly course-correct the day you were having? In the spirit of the witch who got on at Paddington station, if anyone asks me about my weekend plans, I'll tell them happily: “I'm going to my sister's wedding!” Don't feel afraid to get excited. Happy Friday.