You know when it’s dark, and the lights are on in a house across the street… You can se
You know when it’s dark, and the lights are on in a house across the street… You can see in the kitchen, and the mom is there and she’s doing dishes or something. Is it the mom? Maybe not. Maybe it’s the mistress, and the mom is away on a work trip. Maybe it’s a roommate. How can I know? It feels wrong. The light from in the house is too bright to see out. She has no idea. But from the darkness outside, the view is as obvious as if it was on purpose. I’m not talking about being a stalker… I’m talking about those innocent moments when you can see too much. If it’s my neighbor, maybe I’ve noticed that window over the months, and I’ve made up an entire story about who they are. . In cities, this kind of fantasy narrative is easy. Somehow, the more people crammed together, the easier it is to be alone. To not know who’s across the way, living their life. I’m never more alone than on an airplane, touching knees with a stranger, headphones in. I couldn’t be closer, and at the same time, deeper in my personal time. . You may meet me, and I am an open book, so your guesses will often be right. But the lights are on at night, and they’re guesses anyway. There are rooms that aren’t facing the street in me. There are kids in the basement. There are cars in the driveway. At best, we’re all guessing. . I once asked a friend, as a kind of test: “when you meet someone new, at a party or something, do you automatically like them, and let them prove if they shouldn’t be trusted… or do you treat everyone as suspect… and let them prove that they are worthy?” . This question seems to reveal a world view: a sense of safety in this life. What do you see in the window? What do you assume? . Photo: @grantlegan at @campwandawega with @shcmembers #weekenders #treehouse #dreamhouse (at Camp Wandawega) -- source link
#weekenders#treehouse#dreamhouse