Life Happens on the Street
PS: lots of photos in this one! Why walking and wandering makes us feel more alive.
“I’m going out to the street to see what happens.” That’s why I find cities like Paris, Havana, Istanbul, New York, and Tokyo so fascinating. They teem with life.
When we leave the privacy of home, we are dropped in a mosaic of people, sounds, and routines. We tap into the sense that we are part of something greater than ourselves. At the same time, we can choose to blend in with the crowd or feel the lonely isolation of being just another face in the sea of people.
Sure, being around people all the time can feel overwhelming. But I’ve grown to appreciate it. The little connections we make with strangers, the moments of observation—they become more abundant.
This is what I struggle with in most American cities. These encounters are rarer and take more work. Perhaps it’s due to our car-dominated culture, the lack of public transportation, and the shortage of “third places” where interactions naturally happen.
Having lived in New York City and Paris, and traveled to places like Cuba, Mexico, and Haiti, as well as small towns like Jardin in Colombia, I’ve come to cherish watching life unfold around me. While it can be overstimulating at times, regularly witnessing and participating in each other’s lives deepens my sense of tolerance and empathy.
When cities are walkable and have good public transportation, we feel closer to the spectrum of humanity. On a single New York City subway or Paris metro ride, you might see a businesswoman on her phone next to a Nigerian man in a colorful robe and kufi cap, beside a Hasidic Jew with a black hat, next to a Sikh man with a neatly tied turban, a teenager in a T-shirt heading to school, a veiled Muslim woman, a drag queen in full makeup, a bodybuilder fresh from the gym, and me next to them. These “third places” expose us to the world simply by going about our day.
That’s why to me there’s no greater feeling than sitting on the terrace of a street cafe in Paris or New York just drinking a coffee and watching the world go by.
Watching the world go by
As a photographer, writer, and observer, watching the world go by is one of life’s greatest joys. Perhaps you know the feeling—the need to not “do” anything. Just sit and take it all in.
When I travel, I never leave home without my camera. The best days are the unplanned ones where you walk out the door with no agenda. It usually ends up with me on a random street corner taking photos.
Living in Paris last year, I remember leaving the house with my Sony dangling from my neck and renting a bike. I weaved through the lively streets of Le Marais, stopping to capture a stranger smoking and reading the newspaper and a violinist on the church steps. I rode near the Louvre, parked the bike, and wandered on foot.
At one intersection, commuters exiting the metro collided with tourists heading to the museum, who bumped into the Amazon delivery guy wheeling a dozen packages on a cart, who nearly tripped the waiter balancing a tray of coffees, who almost stuck his foot in the bike lane full of cyclists. Then a guy on a skateboard blasting music and a colorful outfit flew by. The honking cars only added to the chaos. I looked up and saw two elderly women watching this all unfold from their perch on a balcony. Camera in hand, I snapped photos, grinning at the symphony of a city in motion.
Life happens on the street. Just people going about their routines, occasionally colliding. Individual stories brushing up against one another. It’s beautiful to watch. Sure, sometimes there’s yelling, eye rolls, and confusion. But that’s part of being human. It pains me to see us shut into cars and garages, ordering takeout delivery, always rushing from point A to B without stopping anywhere in between to observe, wander, and be curious.
Not just the big cities
This magic isn’t exclusive to big cities. I’ve witnessed it in tiny Colombian mountain towns where McDonald’s and Starbucks have yet to reach. Pueblitos where people walk around the plaza and greet their neighbors by name. Where you can sit at the local cafe window and watch the street vendors set up their food stalls in the early morning. Where you buy ice cream from the lady who makes it in her kitchen. Where the elderly sit on their front steps, socializing with passersby. Where humanity still feels like a tightly woven thread, interdependent, rather than a series of isolated bubbles.
Perfectly Imperfect
No city is perfect, but what matters is being conscious of the places that bring us joy and fulfillment, and why.
This essay was inspired by a fantastic documentary by Joel Meyerowitz, where he addresses his love of going out onto the street with a camera in hand. Highly recommend.
“You are never bored on the street if you have a camera. You’ll get everything you cannot expect or anticipate. It will happen to you. If you’re sitting at home saying ‘I don’t know what to do with myself,’ nothing will happen to you. I pick up the camera and go for a walk in the world, and the world gives me its gifts, only because I pay attention to it. It has taught me how to pay attention and how to be ready so when the song comes, I can hear it.”
—Joel Meyerowitz
It’s about being out in the world with our eyes wide open.
