We are in our kitchen and our neighbors are in theirs.
We can see them walking around. If they look, they can see us cooking, eating, talking, cracking up, dancing. Working. Rubbing our eyes.
I’m not sure they look, but I do.
I don’t want to miss a chance to share a wave with someone. To make eye contact. Direct eye contact. No mediating cameras and screens. No lag time or pixelation.
And if we all step out to the balcony to talk for a minute, suspended a floor above the ground and separated by about 15 feet?
It just makes me want more.
A week ago, the most exciting interaction I had all day was on a walk when I realized someone was lapping us (in the opposite direction). He ran by once, twice. How many times around?, I asked the third time. Four, he said. A new friendly face! A win on any scale!
Now? It’s no longer enough.
I miss people.
But I’m lucky (even controlling for health, which we are incredibly grateful to have). I’m lucky because we have people we can literally see, even in these times we can’t go see anyone.
And maybe some of those people would be up for a conversation.
Tomorrow, we’ll ask. If it’s still raining, we’ll write up a sign and tape it to our kitchen window, facing out. And hope our neighbors are just as hungry for conversation as we are.
In this interesting moment in history, what do you miss? Please share in a comment below.
This Glass Has Water 