I recently read an intriguing book—The Socrates Express by American writer Eric Weiner. The book seamlessly blends philosophy with travel, as the author embarks on train journeys to places where great philosophers once lived, connecting their ideas to modern society. He explores how we can find meaning, navigate challenges, and even enhance happiness in a complex world. Each chapter delves into a philosopher’s teachings, addressing universal life questions: How to face death? How to find joy? How to cope with anxiety? Reading it felt like a feast of ideas.

One passage stood out to me: the author describes his fondness for train stations, even chaotic ones like New York’s Penn Station. Despite its dim, cramped, and almost nest-like appearance, he finds the boarding process fascinating. The platform number is only announced minutes before departure, leaving passengers clutching their tickets and coffee in anxious anticipation. Some gamble on a platform guess, while others resign themselves to uncertainty, staring at the floor in frustration.

To my surprise, I recently had an eerily similar experience at Guangzhou Station, making me wonder if its manager had studied in New York.

On February 3rd, I was traveling back to Beijing on train D902 with an elderly companion in a wheelchair. We stayed at a nearby hotel the night before and arrived at the station 40 minutes early. The waiting hall was packed with travelers from all over the country, yet no uniformed staff were in sight. Everyone stood anxiously with their luggage, children, and elderly family members, unsure of the platform. As departure time approached, there were still no instructions or staff to maintain order. Eventually, a crowd gathered outside a ticket checkpoint, waiting in confusion.

Ten minutes before departure, two staff members finally arrived to announce the platform. To our disbelief, the same checkpoint was used for two different trains—one departing at 20:07, the other at 20:30. People were packed together, needing to scan their IDs again to proceed. Some passengers struggled with malfunctioning scanners, trying to access the manual checkpoint, only to find it too crowded. With less than five minutes left, panic set in. Elderly passengers stumbled on the escalators, voices rose in frustration, and chaos unfolded at the gate.

At that moment, I recalled Weiner’s description. Whether in New York or Guangzhou, train station disorder and passenger anxiety are universal. Yet, this very chaos reinforced the value of philosophy—it helps us find calm in disorder and use reason to navigate moments of stress.

Perhaps next time, I’ll try to remain composed and apply philosophical wisdom to the situation—accepting the unchangeable like the Stoics or focusing on present joys like Epicurus.

This experience at Guangzhou Station made me realize that philosophy isn’t just abstract theory but practical wisdom for daily life. It teaches us to find peace amid chaos and stay rational in moments of distress. If you’ve had similar experiences, feel free to share in the comments. Let’s explore how to apply philosophy to everyday life together.