I like rain. I like Jazz. I like sitting in a coffee shop by the window, looking out at the rain. The inside of the shop is warm, but the window side of your space is colder than the rest of the room. The music filling the place is nice, classical, but only I can hear Miles Davis play his trumpet.
My outlook is a lower than the normal level so I can see everyone’s shoes at eye level as they walk by outside. The many cars leaving the shopping mall, to who knows where, continue to leave my view. Some travel to their families to enjoy what’s left of the Sunday evening, some to their homes, but only to sit and watch nothing on TV until they decide they are tired enough to go to sleep. Some to sit and ponder the holiday season and wonder where their families are, while others sit, barely, with excitement knowing the families will soon be there or they will soon be with their families.
There is a young couple at my 10 o’clock trying to make conversation, but having only nominal success. The older couple, at my 12 o’clock, try the same thing, but the man stares hopefully out the window for something that is not the person holding up the conversation. Close to me sits an aged woman reading a book, frequently looking up to possibly reminisce about past days. The young man sitting alone across the room roams the free internet across the vast social network of today. The baristas look tired, not very interested in the coffee they are brewing, just working to earn the paycheck to fund December. One of them is getting ready to walk out of the door, rain jacket ready to brave the possible storm outside.
There is a young man sitting with a toothpick in his mouth and a coffee to his left, typing thoughtfully at his keyboard. Every time he takes a sip of his coffee a small grimace comes to his face as if to ask, “What went wrong?” There is a book in a Borders bag on the table, probably for a younger sibling. A children’s Bible. He closes his eyes as if to think thoughtfully about the music in his small headphones. He looks through the window for a possible destination. Perhaps a physical one, perhaps a future. He has a mark around his ring finger as if something is missing. There is a ring with a small gold cross on the leather strap that hangs around his neck.
He moves the toothpick as he takes another sip of coffee. There is the grimace again.
Have you ever just sat and watched people? It can be quite interesting. Every day I am in a new house installing HVAC equipment. I try to figure as much out about the people that live there is possible. It is astounding what you can glean by observing the books people read, the food they eat, how they talk in casual conversation, what they drive, how they move. It is all little peeks into their lives. What is important to them? What do they invest time in? What do they like doing?
I wonder what people’s answers would be to those questions about me. What do they observe? I wonder if they could tell me what I would die for? I wonder if my coworkers could. My friends, my family, the guy at the parts store I see every day.
It’s interesting.
What parts of our lives do we leave on our sleeves? What parts can even the slightly observant person notice about us? Is the majority of our lives held back for only the closest of friends to know?
I was thinking about the fact that if I was married and didn’t including time I was asleep. I would be spending more hours of the week with my install partner than my wife. What does he know about me? Not much.
What is observable? What can people know about you from every day interaction? What do you let be known?
I like rain. I like the saxophone filling my ears. I like watching people and thinking about the stories that fill the rest of the book that I am only reading the cover of.
For the curious, I am listening to the Genius Jazz mix on my iTunes. It’s nice.