On the Outside Looking In

I admit it, I past what I thought was a cozy house on my evening walk, and could not resist peeking in the window.  The first thing I notice in the dimly lit room are two empty wine glasses and an open bottle of GiaDomella resting on a side table next to a worn double-wide chair.  

There are two impressions left in the fabric by bodies that recently occupied this space. I make some colorful assumptions about the people who live here, images erupt in my mind, and I ignore my emotional response.  I let my eyes wander around the room and find them lingering on a collage of framed family photos lining the back wall.  I allow myself to play with the preserved images, boldly placing myself in the scenes, pretending that this is where I belong.  

A woven rug covers the wood floor, a warm fire burns low in the brick fireplace, and an over-sized couch with a slumbering tabby cat finish the ensemble. Music can be heard playing from somewhere in the house and I recognize Luke Bryan belting out, "I See You." I slowly back away from the window, hoping I go unnoticed by the neighbors, returning to the sidewalk, and my evening stroll. I think about the people in that house and the comfort of belonging to a family.
George MacDonald said, “Few delights can equal the mere presence of one who we trust utterly.” 
In this life that kind of trust is both a privilege and a gift.  I took a walk with myself tonight. I was frustrated by the banalities of family life…who is in charge of dinner, who left the wet clothes in the dryer, and once again who forgot to replace the toilet paper in the front bathroom?  The dog got in the garbage for the third time this week and I demand to know who is responsible for my bad mood?  

I pound it out on the sidewalk with my little dark cloud casting its loyal shadow over my attitude. This is when I realize, we write our own narratives, good, bad or otherwise, and it would be wise for me to remember, it never feels good to be on the outside looking in. Properly chastised, I return to my home, my glass of wine, and my double-wide chair. 


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Comments

  1. I often do this, too! I look into windows and create my own stories about them!

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  2. “Open the window in the center of your chest, and let that shit fly in and out,” Rumi (adapted)

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