Here’s an analogy for you to think about: our world is a towering high-rise with eight billion apartments, one for each of us. Each one is a sanctuary that reflects the lives of the people inside. I imagine every apartment aglow with golden light, its walls etched with the stories we write — our triumphs, heartbreaks, and all the complicated, beautiful things in between. And as I thought about this, I couldn’t help but wonder: are the marks we leave on our walls the ones that truly define us?
Over the course of a lifetime, we visit countless apartments. We step into the lives of others. In some places, we’re nothing more than a faint scratch on the wall, a moment so fleeting it’s barely noticed. In others, we’re a mural, a piece of art woven into the fabric of their home. When we leave, a part of us stays behind.Â
But here’s the catch: there are rules. It has to be that way, right? You can just walk around, slipping in and out of lives as you please. There are unspoken guidelines about how far you can travel to meet someone, how long you can linger in their space, and how loud you’re allowed to be before you’re asked to leave. The thing about order is that it makes life manageable. Without it, this building would be nothing but a place of chaos where people pile on one another. Yet isn’t it also ironic? Because even in a world this vast, we can feel constrained — limited by the floors and doors that separate us from the people we most want to reach.Â
The first walls we touch belong to those closest to us: our families, childhood friends, the ones who first taught us how to be in this world. But rarely do we stay in the apartment we were born into. Life has a way of pulling us to new floors, new places. Sometimes it’s geography; sometimes it’s values that shift and expand. And as we move, we inevitably grow apart from the people who were once our neighbors. So, I wonder: how many floors are too many before your name fades from someone else’s walls?
Then there’s the question of noise. The times we walk into someone’s life and forget it’s their space, not ours. We stomp too loudly, rearrange their furniture, try to rewrite their story in our handwriting. And when we overstep, we’re asked to leave. The truth is, their apartment isn’t ours to claim. It’s not ours to fix or redecorate. We’re there as guests — to sit, to listen, to share in their light.
While we’re careful about respecting their space, we can’t forget our own. It’s easy to get so entangled in someone else’s apartment that we forget about the golden light of our’s. The walls that hold our stories still need tending. So while we’re part of someone else’s life, we should remember: they’re also a part of ours.
At the end of the day, our time in this building is finite. There are only so many doors we’ll knock on before we’re asked to leave. Out of the billions of apartments, we’ll only visit a fraction — so we have to choose carefully. Seek out the lights that warm you, the spaces where your presence feels welcome, and the walls where you can leave your mark without losing yourself in the process.
And remember, don’t open your front door to everyone who knocks. Take a moment to look through the peephole, to see what they bring, the dangers they carry, so you can ask yourself – should I be cautious? And if you do let them in, and the wrong person scratches your walls, make sure you have a bucket of paint ready. You can keep those marks as lessons – after all, they were a part of your life – but that doesn’t mean you can’t paint over them, changing their shape and look. You can remember them, but no mark has to be permanent, except those you choose to keep.
Because in the end, we’re all writers in this great big building, scribbling our lives on the walls of time. So, while you’re out there, remember what you leave behind on others’ walls. But never forget, they’re writing on yours, too.