Music as Medicine
From Homelessness to National TV
It was Christmas in 2016, and I was feeling depressed, anxious and struggling to get out of bed most days. I knew I needed to do something, anything, to help myself get out of whatever it was that I was in. I don’t remember how I found it, only that I needed to focus elsewhere other than my own pain. I had seen an opportunity to volunteer in my London borough as a survey volunteer for WHAT, Westminster Homeless Action Together. I spent various night shifts helping to gather information from rough sleepers by going out onto the streets and asking them a rough set of questions about their situation to create a greater awareness of homelessness, the people around us who are affected, and what could be done.
Engaging with homeless people wasn’t something new; My mother religiously handed out food to people sleeping rough, and having watched that growing up, and what it meant to people, it was something I inherited. After work, on a night out, I’d hop to McDonald’s and buy myself two meals. Often sitting down and having dinner with someone sleeping rough. I had heard the most amazing stories from poets, chemical engineers, and artists who, from one moment to another, had found themselves on the streets. They would show me their art, read me their poetry, or tell me stories of walking in Summer, from England to the Netherlands just to go to the free art museums. They’d also tell me of bone-chilling nights under a bridge, unaware if they’d make it through the night.
After my WHAT experience, I decided I wanted to spend more time volunteering in the sector, so I signed up to Crisis for Christmas in London. I picked the location around the corner from where I was living at the time and headed off to my first day. My language skills began to come in handy, and I occasionally assisted health practitioners with appointments that required translating certain words into French, Spanish, or Italian. But it was being assigned to the IT section due to my work background and skills, which eventually led to one of the most profound, life-changing, and magical encounters in my life.
My role was simple: check people in and out for their slot and make sure they’re not watching anything they shouldn’t be. One day, I noticed a young man come in and watch video after video on YouTube of pianists. He would move his fingers along the table, mimicking the grand pianists. I wondered if he was a pianist. Eventually, I couldn’t resist and I asked him, “Do you play the piano?” to which he replied, “Yes, I do.” I instantly became more curious. “What pianists do you listen to?” and I began to share my favourites, as well as telling him my love of piano and playing for eight years. He told me he composed, and I asked what kind of music, to which he replied, “It sounds like water.” I mentioned to him there was a piano, to which he laughed and said with a hint of disdain, “I’m not playing that thing.” And with that reply, I was convinced he was great.
François, as he introduced himself, began coming to the IT section most days. Being on the computer eventually led to him sitting at a table chatting, which in turn led to him teaching me to play chess. Not that I was any good. During our chats and games, we talked about his childhood, how he’d ended up being homeless, due to getting his possessions stolen on the first day he moved to the UK and how he’d crashed on a few sofas until he found himself on the streets. He mentioned that he often spent hours playing in Kings Cross Station. He told me about his dreams. He shared some experiences he’d had with work. I listened. As a coach, I couldn’t help myself, and I began asking a few questions and bringing attention to a few things he was saying, behaviours, patterns, perspectives. I gave him quite a bit of tough love. But it wasn’t just one way.
François would ask me questions. What I dreamed of. What I did for work. I shared that I was having mental health challenges and that I wanted to leave my career in Finance to follow my dreams. Over time, it was clear a friendship had formed, and we looked forward to our chats. When it was time to say goodbye, finally, he asked for my contact details to stay in touch, and I reluctantly declined due to the volunteering policy. I followed it up with a statement that came out of my mouth with absolute certainty…
“I believe that if two people are meant to meet again, they will. I believe we will meet again.”
Years later, I’m having after drinks at a piano bar (no, it’s not what you think), with a friend, and I’m out past midnight. The friend I was with suggested that we keep talking and that I divert my route to do so. Something that is very rare, I always want to get home quick and in bed. But I hop on their train and get off at King’s Cross somewhere around 1-2 am. As I’m walking through the train station to get the bus on the main road, I began to hear someone playing the piano and almost instantly I recognise the sound. The sound of water, and in that moment, I knew in my heart whose fingers were moving across the keys.
I began walking quicker and eventually walked straight past him, not wanting to interrupt his flow. I stood behind him, tears streaming down my face, by the magic, the beauty, the love. It wasn’t long before he felt someone watching and turned around to see who it was. Mouth ajar, he got up, ran towards me, picked me up and spun me around. The first few words we said to each other were “I’m not homeless”, to which I replied, “I’m no longer in my corporate job.” We finally swapped contact details and met up many a time. I invited him to my home to jam on the piano with friends. I took him to a Secret Sessions, a gig for up-and-coming artists. He spent time with my family. Then I moved abroad, life happened, and we lost touch.
Until a couple of months ago, when out of nowhere I received this message on Instagram:
“Hey Alex, it’s François, just letting you know I’ve finally made it on national TV, and I wanted to thank you for believing in me. Thanks for your undying support. You have been such a rock. You have counted differently on this journey and taken me places. I can never forget you.”
I instantly felt my heart swell, and tears began coming as I watched a short clip on the Instagram page of Channel 4’s The Piano. I replied with a crying selfie and a thumbs up. I waited that evening until my partner was home, told him the whole story, and sat down to watch episode 1 of season 3, where I heard François introducing a song he composed called, All heavens, “as an accolade to all the people who gave him encouragement when he didn’t even have shoes.”
A couple of weeks later I had been invited to deliver a keynote address to a room full of 60 leaders for one of the UK’s largest housing associations. The brief was for me to talk about my journey, the theme authenticity and of course tie it into leadership and I chose to share the story of meeting François. After I finished sharing the story, I played the clip of him playing. Telling them what it taught me about leadership, that leadership isn’t about titles or positions, but about presence. It’s the courage to see someone fully. It’s believing in potential before it proves itself. François reminded me that when we meet each other with humanity, we create the conditions for people to rise, to remember who they are, and to play their own music into the world.
To hear from François, check out this short film and campaign by Crisis.
With love and magic,
#AuthenticAlex