It was decades ago now, but it’s still one of the most memorable conversations of my life. On a long, slow train heading north, with nothing to do but watch the rain, the man sitting opposite began trying to talk to me. Like most young women who have learned the hard way to be careful of strangers, I was unfriendly. But curiosity took over when he said that he was just bored, and liked talking. We chatted with each other for the rest of the journey and when the train finally pulled in, we didn’t change numbers.

However, I still think about it sometimes on long, boring journeys, before getting a phone out and scrolling silently like everyone else. It’s a rare person who can cheerfully break the social rule about not talking to strangers without any ill intention, but life would be more interesting if more of us knew how to do it.

And that’s why I can’t be as cynical as I probably should be about “Tube Chat” campaign launched to encourage Britons to talk to each other. All anyone is being asked to do is to start a conversation they wouldn’t otherwise have had- maybe with a friend from whom they’ve been apart or a neighbor they don’t know.

Obviously, it takes more than a bit of small talk over garden fences to unite strangers together. More people live alone than did so a generation ago. We socialize increasingly through screens, sending texts instead of bothering to call.

It’s true that the “Tube Chat” campaign of a few years back failed in its attempts to make Londoners talk to each other on public transport. But even city people who would normally die rather than make eye contact with strangers still happily gather in large numbers by the Thames for the New Year’s Eve fireworks. They would get a far better view at home on television-it’s not really about the fireworks, but about being part of something communal (公共的).

There’s no guarantee that this latest campaign to reconnect will succeed wherever others have failed. But if there is ever a moment to stop social disbelief, it may start a fire to warm a world that sometimes feels cold. Wherever my train friend is now, I hope he is still talking.

Other people may have their own ideas about our lives. We can value their advice, but we don’t have to take it to heart.

Our parents have dreams for us. They want us to do well in school and to do whatever is necessary to reach our highest potential. Later in life, friends may try to set us up with their ideas of the perfect partner or the perfect job. People close to us may have ideas about how we should live our lives, ideas that usually come from love and the desire for us to be happy. Other times, they come from a place of need within them whether it is a parent who wants us to live out his or her dreams or a friend who wants us to play a good role. Whatever the case, we can appreciate and consider those people’s advice, but ultimately we must follow our own guidance.

There may come a time when all the suggestions can become overbearing (专横的). We may feel that the people we love don’t agree on our judgment, which can hurt our feelings. It can affect the choices we make for our lives by making us doubt ourselves before we’ve had a chance to decide what we want. We can tell our loved ones how much we appreciate their thoughts and ideas, but that we need to live our own lives and make our own decisions. We can explain that they need to let us learn from our own experiences. When they see that we are happy with our lives and the path we are taking to reach our goals, they can make sure that all we need them to do is to share in our joy.

William Purkey, a well-known professor of education, said, “Dance like no one is watching, love you’ll never be hurt, sing like no one is listening, and live like it’s heaven on earth.” It seems like the perfect life philosophy — and one I’ve learned to apply to running over the year.

But I didn’t always feel this way. In my early days, when I weighed 240 pounds, I ran like everyone was watching — and judging. If I was on a run and saw a car approaching, I’d stop and pretend I was looking for something I’d lost. I bought the high-tech gear and clothes that I thought would make people believe I was a runner. And I didn’t have a clue if the expensive shoes I was wearing were the right kind for me — I just wanted to look like I fit in with this group.

To be honest, I felt a certain satisfaction in believing that someone was watching. I really thought that other people cared about my performance. The best example of this was a combined, two-lap marathon in Florence, Italy. As I approached the finishing line, the crowd began to cheer. I was surprised. Here I was, thousands of miles from home, and the Italians were shouting for “IIPenguino.”

About 20 yards from the finishing, the truth set in when the winner of the full marathon went past me as I was finishing the half-marathon. No one was cheering for me. No one probably even noticed that I was finishing. I couldn’t help but smile at my own illusion of self-importance.

That’s when I realized I had been running for every reason except the right one. I ran to make other people happy, ran to live up to their expectations. But no one was watching — no one cared. So I decided I was going to run for me—just me—and gained a new enjoyment from the sport I hadn’t truly experienced yet. I’ve learned to run like no one is watching.

So if you see me at race, and I look like a 60-year-old guy waddling(蹒跚) along, don’t worry. I’m fine. The miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.