Walking in My Shoes

Sunday morning in Covent Garden Square was alive with its usual energy—street performers calling out, musicians tuning up, and the hum of shoppers drifting through the air. Amid the bustle, a young man sat behind a vintage typewriter, its retro keys clacking like something from another era.

“What would you like me to write about?” he asked. “Please write a poem about Yana,” I said, “and about Walking in My Shoes.”

The moment he placed his fingers on the keys, something astonishing happened. He typed with such speed and confidence that I stood frozen, mesmerised. It felt impossible that an old machine could keep up with him, yet within less than a minute he pulled the finished page from the typewriter and handed it to me.

I prepared myself to smile politely—but as I read, my scepticism dissolved. I loved it. Truly.

How did he do that? Was it talent? Practice? Training? Some kind of gift? A hundred questions came to mind, but he was already writing for the next person, the steady rhythm of the typewriter carrying him forward.

What a wonderful job, I thought—bringing joy to strangers in the open air, armed with nothing but words and an old machine. The scene reminded me of Greek philosophers under the shade of trees, writing, thinking, sharing ideas. Raw skill. Pure creativity. No AI, no screens, no special effects—just simplicity and genuine happiness. The kind that inspires real appreciation.

So I’m sharing the poem with you. And maybe next time you find yourself in Covent Garden, you’ll ask him to write one for you too.

I discover the best of me
in empathy
in that understanding of life
in others’ strides
I discover the best of me
In those shoes walked
not in my own lifetime
But by those people I meet
and those I don’t
Those moments console me
they become parables dreamed
I become those ecstasies
leant to others
and I become a life discovered
walking in those shoes
of each of us, beautiful

With Love as Always,
Yana De Lilac