During undergrad, I spent at least fifteen hours a week simply commuting across the expanse of Boston, and even with the varied entertainment that social media, music, podcasts, and reading provide, the immense monotony of repeatedly funneling through the same routes was barely broken. Seinabo Sey’s Silent Bus Session drawing us back into constrained space can be anxiety-inducing, but I can’t be the only one who finds it easier to study the crowds that exist within them as a moving part—how easily she blends in, the glint of her ornate silver earrings really one of the only standout objects, holding itself separate from the muted blues, greys, and blacks. Her voice shines too, rising above the emotional jumble of humans pressed together to fold us inside her melodies. The chorus of, “You know you ain’t getting any younger, younger, younger, are you?” feels particularly challenging in this liminal space where you’re entrenched in your routine, maybe to the detriment of your own creativity or fulfillment. Performing in the middle of a space where different communities and goals intersect becomes the reflective disruption that the chorus channels, twisting out to your core to ask if you’ve been truly fed lately. Whereas holding youth on a pedestal can block learning ability, being willing to dip inside yourself transforms all the experiences you’ve hoarded across the years into a self-reflective pool; you just have to have the flexibility to keep swimming across and judge your laps. Watching the passengers’ walls strip away to sway and engage this stranger beautifully highlights the power of vulnerability on both ends: no space is impenetrable and no routine can’t be shaken.