the repairman's gaze

I've been a repairman for over a decade. In that time, I've seen the inside of countless houses. At first, it was just a series of broken appliances and leaky faucets. But as the years went by, I started to notice things. The way a family's dynamics were revealed in the state of their living room. The kind of furniture they chose, the color of their walls. It was as if their entire lives were on display, waiting to be deciphered. I remember this one house on Elm Street, the family had just moved in. The walls were still bare, the floors creaked with each step. But in the kitchen, there was this one photograph on the fridge. A family portrait, smiling and happy. It was the first thing I noticed when I walked in. I wondered what their story was, how they had ended up in this new house. As I worked, I caught glimpses of them, the way they interacted with each other. The mother was always on edge, the father tried to calm her down. The kids were oblivious, lost in their own world. I fixed the leaky faucet, but my mind kept wandering back to that photograph. What was their story? I never found out, but it's stayed with me all these years. I've seen so many houses, so many families. Each one a puzzle, waiting to be solved. But the more I see, the more I realize that some puzzles are better left unsolved. The mystery is what makes them interesting. I've started to notice things about my own life, my own relationships. The way my wife leaves her coffee cup on the counter, the way my son's eyes light up when he talks about his favorite video game. These small details, they're what make life worth living. As a repairman, I've learned to appreciate the little things, the way a well-oiled machine can bring joy to a person's life. But it's not just about fixing things, it's about understanding the people behind them. The way they live, the way they love. It's a delicate balance, one that I'm still trying to master. Sometimes I'll be working on a job, and I'll catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. A child's drawing on the fridge, a couple's wedding photograph on the mantle. It's these small things that remind me of the beauty in the mundane, the magic in the everyday. As a repairman, I've learned to see the world in a different way, to appreciate the little things that make life worth living.