89 | Window

Window 89 didn’t fix me. But it reminded me that the world keeps moving, and that’s not cruelty—that’s permission.

Do you have a window that changed you? A bus seat? A park bench? Drop it in the comments. I think we all have an 89 somewhere. Enjoyed this? Subscribe for more essays on small places and big feelings. window 89

They call it “Window 89” in my memory because that was the year I lost three things: a job, a love, and an illusion of control. In that order. Window 89 didn’t fix me

If you’ve never had a window that became a character in your life, you might not understand. But if you have—you already know which one I’m talking about. A bus seat

That window taught me patience. You can’t rush a sunset. You can’t negotiate with fog.

I don’t live there anymore. But sometimes, on a Tuesday in October, I’ll walk two blocks out of my way just to look up at the ninth floor. The window is still there. The paint-chipped “89” is still visible if you squint.