How Do You Commute Without Music?

There I was, walking through Liverpool Street, dodging tourists, cyclists, and that one guy screaming at no one in particular. Sirens, buses honking, all of the noise of London’s commuter chaos, and then it hit me. There are people commuting in this city without music. No headphones. No podcasts. No playlist to drown out the madness. Just… raw, unfiltered London noise.

Who are these people?

Are they superheroes?

Is this some kind of mental strength I missed the memo on?

As someone who takes music everywhere, to work, gym, walking to the shops (even if I am just popping out for milk). I genuinely can’t understand it.

Music is my escape, my mood regulator, and after living in London for most of my adult life, the only reason I haven’t turned into one of those people screaming back at the city’s chaos.

And maybe I take music so seriously because of where I came from: London’s R&B, hip-hop, and garage club scene in the 2000s. Back then, music wasn’t just something you listened to. It was something you lived. Nights out at the Vauxhall Collesuem, The End and Bagley’s. Those nights were the soundtrack to my formative years. Even now, when the songs come on Spotify, it takes me right back!

And it wasn’t just about the music. It was about the people. Raving it up on the dance floor with an absolute stranger who became your best friend for a night. Having those life-changing (okay, maybe slightly tipsy) conversations in the girl's toilet. Those spaces weren’t just clubs; they were communities.

Most of those places are gone, swept away by huge fancy redevelopments. And maybe that’s part of why Richie’s question—Who are you outside of work?—still stumps me. Because back then, a huge part of who I was lived in those clubs with my friend Janine.

It’s hard to figure out where that part of me fits now, especially in a London that’s so different from the one I grew up in.

And yet, London still surprises me. Even without the clubs, it has this way of keeping life full of unexpected connections and moments. Like bumping into someone at work and ending up in a sauna the next morning, talking about life and values.

But back to the commuters who get to work without music. What’s their secret? Maybe they’ve tapped into something I haven’t.

Maybe they are tuned into the city in a way I’ll never understand.

As for me? I’ll stick with my playlists on Spotify, thanks. They connect with who I was, where I’ve been, and the city and the music scene that shaped me.

Could I ever do a commute without headphones? Maybe one day.

But let’s be honest. It’s not likely.