Every evening I walk or drive by the corner house on a street near to my own. And nearly every night, I manage to catch a glimpse through the front room window. The view inside is always the same; the curtain is left open and a single occupant inside the house sits alone on the sofa, in front of large TV screen. The living room is always very neat and tidy, nothing out of place. The green plants beside the sofa are large and thriving or plastic.
As I pass by the home, my first thought is how cozy…how relaxing, peaceful…safe–nothing to clean, nothing to make, just him, the lone occupant, in pure comfort and leisure. For a moment I long to be him, no demands on my time, a great big TV to myself, on a sofa (by myself), in a neat, warm room, perhaps dining on a tasty dinner. I’ve never actually seen him eat anything in front of that great big television screen, but in my fantasy of myself enjoying such a moment, I am eating a tasty dinner. Perhaps, I am eating a burrito and a pop and then a bowl of ice cream for dessert.
And then, I think again.
To be him, all alone, night after night in the unchanging room, in front of a TV each night…how boring, how lonely…utterly depressing–the room an unchanging prison.
Two opposing realities of the same scene: one light, one dark–one hopeful, one depressing….the ying and the yang of a simple peek inside someone’s life.
When I view his unchanging evenings from afar, I long for what appears to be the safety of the known, the predictable. But it takes me only two nights of viewing his unchanging evenings to believe that comfort and safety are mere illusions. A stagent, isolated existence is actually a prison.
Perhaps change is the only comfort and safe bet in this life.
I wonder how he feels about his regular, repetitive evenings? Does the changing TV screen provide enough companionship, stimulus?
I do hope he has a day job of great socialization and change; for in truth, I find those evenings of his frighten me so.