Tiny Pieces of others people’s lives
Have you ever stopped and really listened to the conversations happening around you?
Not in an eavesdropping kind of way. More like… you’re literally sitting right next to people in an airport, standing shoulder to shoulder in security lines, packed into airplane seats, and suddenly you’re accidentally part of tiny pieces of strangers’ lives.
Today alone I heard:
“Ready to get that baby out?”
That same random guy also looked like the kind of person who could sleep absolutely anywhere. Airport floor? Middle seat? Standing up? Honestly, I don’t know what to think about people who can sleep in airports.
Then came the airplane conversations.
“Do you live here?”
“No, just visited my dad in prison.”
Yikes.
A few rows later:
“I’m going to see my rock climbing club.”
Didn’t even know rock climbing clubs were a thing, but apparently they are.
Maybe it was actually a good thing I wasn’t sitting next to my husband on the plane. It forced me to stop scrolling for a minute and just notice things around me.
Or maybe I’m just feeling nostalgic lately.
I keep seeing those reels and videos on social media, the ones that take you back to the ‘80s or ‘90s. Old malls, roller rinks, Blockbuster nights, random family dinners, people sitting on porches talking. Back before phones and the internet swallowed every quiet moment.
Back when people actually listened because there wasn’t anything else to do.
Those videos get me every single time.
They’re probably AI-generated, and honestly, I hate AI for a lot of reasons, but somehow they still manage to hit something emotional.
Maybe all of this is just my long way of saying we probably need to put our phones down once in a while. Look around. People watch. Listen to random conversations.
Not in a creepy way, obviously.
Just enough to remember we’re all out here living these weird little lives at the exact same time.
Anyway, I blame menopause for these random thoughts that show up out of nowhere.
One minute I’m nervously taking photos out of an airplane window during turbulence, the next I’m collecting tiny pieces of strangers’ conversations like they mean something.
Maybe that’s why I call it Sunday Bubbles. Just random little thoughts floating around my head looking for somewhere to land.
Not crying today though.
Just nervous on a bumpy airplane, tagging along on one of my husband’s work trips, listening to strangers talk about life.
