My apartment

From my office window I have a pretty fantastic view of the city I work in.  It’s a romanticized view from my third-floor window.  It’s a nice part of the city.  Lots of small shops, restaurants, etc.  Catty-corner from me is a building I look at quite a bit.  It is a three-story brick building.  Painted a deep red.  The first floor is commercial and I’m guessing the second and third floor are apartments. 

I want to live on the third floor of the building.  There are big, old windows looking over the city.  I stare at the third-floor windows.  Today, the white curtains are closed.  I wonder what is behind those curtains.  What does the apartment look like?  Is it as glorious as I imagine it to be? 

Could I live alone? Alone in the city?  What would that be like?  Would I actually like myself? I feel like I have allowed so many others in my life to define me; to define my importance.  What am I if I am not needed?  Am I still important?  Am I still relevant to my family and friends if I am not actively doing something for them?  Will I be forgotten?  What do I become? 

Am I then just a lonely, sad, middle-aged woman with nothing?  Maybe?  I would be able to paint and write.  I would come and go as I pleased.  Where would I even go?  Would I have the courage to walk into different places alone?  Sit down and eat alone?  Try and meet new people alone? That is a terrifying thought.  

How alone would alone be?  How would I redefine who I am when I have always been something to someone?  Could I find a new purpose for my life?  Isn’t it a bit late to try and figure out who I want to be or who I actually am?  I wonder who I would lose along the way?  Is this my mid-life crisis?  Why am I questioning so much about my life?  What the hell is wrong with me? 

The curtains just opened.  I wonder what’s next for whoever lives in my apartment.