volume one hundred and seventy-three
from the fourth floor
📍Written from a fourth floor in Tāmaki Makaurau (otherwise known as Auckland) while fighting off the sniffles brought on by the longest walk of my life, done in the rain. But I did it.
One stares at their phone and another looks up to the buildings above. One looks ahead, another at their feet.
They carry paper bags, handbags, shopping bags, duffle bags, school bags, others’ bags, multiple bags, heavy bags, laptop bags. Some pull bags on wheels behind them with both hands as they make their way uphill. Someone runs after theirs after the hill takes it down again.
I see comfy shoes, worn-out shoes, high-heeled shoes, soggy shoes, open-toed shoes, favourite shoes, brand new shoes, no shoes, no shirt, no worries.
Her arms wave aggressively by her sides as she walks as if shaking off the day. Their feet skip together because they’re excited about wherever they are going. His feet know to step over drains without paying attention, the muscle memory of taking the same route over and over.
She decided to look busy in her phone as he approaches in the hopes that he wouldn’t speak to her. He doesn’t even notice that he is a threat when they are the only two on the street.
Some cars wait, some cars break, some cars wave strangers through with no agenda but kindness. Others race wherever they are going, making pedestrians jump back out of the way.
Some folks use the lights, some folks run to the island in the middle of the road and then run again when they see another gap just so they do not have to wait any longer to go into the convenience store and get their late-night chocolate.
The tree tops are at eye level when I look straight out and the afternoon sun turns the leaves into nature’s disco ball.
There’s gum, there’s puke, there’s wrappers, there’s branches. There are rocks cemented into pavement to make it impossible to be a bed for someone who needs it.
Seagulls fly past the window towards the coast. People open the curtains at all hours to greet the day in rooms above and across.
U-turns go wrong, blinkers are deserted, horns are utilised and minds are changed. The grass patch becomes a carpark at 9am as Sunday’s best stroll hand in hand. On the other side of the fence, Saturday’s best walks alone in the new day.
Unexpected sun sees tourists purchasing matching straw hats. Advertisements are free when hotels loan out their umbrellas to caught off guard guests.
Fast overtakes slow only to meet again together at the lights. Pigeons have no fear and do not step out of the way.
Backs are bent, shoulders are hunched, hips are sore, legs are tired and arms grab for the air in front as if to help pull themselves home.
Emails are replied to after an OOO has been turned on. Calls are seen and ignored. Faces in masks are judged wondering who it is trying to protect, and should they be worried?
Friends talk excitedly together in whispers, joggers pant their conversations across their path, some talk to themselves and like what they hear.
Hugs hello and goodbye on the corner happen next to frames around a tree becoming temporary seating.
Children race to the top of double-decker buses and adults hide their disappointment when a single-level bus arrives.
Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me something you see when you look out your window?
something i struggled with this week:
🐾 Turns out hotel rooms are nowhere near as fun as houses with pets to play with when I need a break from work and my phone has replaced them in this case.
a blessing from this week:
🚶♀️ I have never felt so alive. I can do hard things.
a goal for the coming week:
🌊 Get to the beach.
pics or it didn’t happen:
I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.
Oh yay you! You can do hard things and you are magnificent doing them! Keep walking!
Keep looking out. Keep leaning in. Keep looking up Lauren! 🪟 And definitely definitely keep writing your wonderful tales of your travels! 💖 Brilliant attention to detail as always 👌