The window was open

It started because it was hot. Not unbearable — the building situation is mostly resolved now, so I’m not living through the disaster of February again — but warm enough that I cracked the window while I had my coffee this morning and didn’t immediately close it. That was my first mistake.

The window was open

Somewhere below, two people were having a conversation. I don’t know who they were. I caught maybe ninety seconds of it through the window — a man’s voice, very calm, saying something like “I just think you knew before I knew, and you let me figure it out on my own, and I’m not sure if that was kind or not.” And then a pause. And then a woman’s voice saying, “I thought it was.” And that was it. They moved on, or lowered their voices, or I lost the thread. I stood there at the window for a full minute after that just holding my mug, turning it over in my head.

I have no idea what they were talking about. Could have been anything — a job, a diagnosis, a relationship, a decision someone made years ago. But the shape of it stuck with me. The idea that kindness and honesty can look identical from the outside and feel completely different to the person receiving them. I’ve been thinking about it all morning, which is maybe a lot of emotional real estate to give to strangers I will never see again, but here we are. The archive project has me thinking a lot about stories anyway — how much gets left out of the version people tell, and whether what’s omitted was a choice. Margaret would probably have something precise and useful to say about that. I should text her.

the window has become a problem for my productivity

Anyway. The window is still open. I’ve learned nothing.