I got onto a crowded Number 1 train on the Upper West Side in Manhattan last week. I’d been out on errands all afternoon and really was hoping to find a seat. There was one available that was a bit cramped in the middle of the row of seats, but it was an open seat. I headed for it. Regrettably, I got to the seat just as the train chose to move.

I felt my balance giving way. I felt the prospect of landing either on someone’s lap or on the floor was a real possibility. But just then, I felt a steadying hand on my shoulder. A tall man standing just behind me took in the scene and intervened. He placed his hand on my shoulder and that was all I needed to stay upright.

The two passengers seated on either side of the vacant seat also moved over slightly to give me more room. So yet another display of kindness.

Unlike the irony in the scene from “A Streetcar Named Desire”, when Blanche Du Bois says, “I have always relied on the kindness of strangers” only to be led by a doctor into a mental hospital, my scene on the Number 1 train was both honest and well-intentioned. To me, it was the embodiment of kindness from strangers. And I was extremely grateful for it.