The View from Above

2026-07-12

“A good day is a quiet day, much of the time spent gazing out my window here on the second floor of our house, where I can look down into my modest garden of black-eyed susans, pink and white phlox, and purple coneflowers while trying to organize my thoughts.”

That was what writer Joyce Carol Oates responded to a question of a good day, pointing out the unsung hero of our time: the humble window.

It’s astonishing how much can happen inside a small frame.

They keep us safe from the elements while providing us with extraordinary sights.

I’ve stared out of a window quite a lot in my life, and while it might seem the view stays the same, the stories within those different frames have been countless.

As a child, I had all the different seasons on show, from snow to rain and bloom. The realisation of just how much nature can change in the space of a year. Perseverance and transformation, all in one view.

As I went to university, I had a room with a quaint panorama of a canal, surrounded by trees and grassland. Quiet, scenic views with the occasional runner or picnic goer telling me to slow down.

Yet, when I enjoyed my breakfast or chitchat dinners with friends, the kitchen frame couldn’t have been further away from serenity.

There, I was staring at a busy campus. Fellow students rushing to lectures or parties, depending on the time of day. And, very often, a load of firetrucks driving back and forth as the fire alarms in student housing went off rather easily.

Later, my window views have given me sparkling city lights, quiet street corners, fireworks, and a whole lot of life. London really tells a thousand stories, and if you’re lucky like I have been, you’ll get visits from birds or a chance to spot the famous London foxes in the midst of sunrise.

And then, just like that, these views of life, business and bustling city scenes ground to a standstill.

A sort of eerie nothingness landed outside my windows. One where you couldn’t even hear, let alone see, the hums of cars or people.

The pandemic made me realise just how much life my views were showing. Suddenly, you felt quite alone in a big city.

And then, we started reminding each other of the togetherness that still breathed strongly even when the streets were empty. The claps I heard while looking out my window every Thursday at 8pm told me a story of hope.

Perhaps my most favourite recent window-related view was captured during the Artemis II mission. The image astronaut Christina Koch took of our beautiful blue planet from the tiny window of the Orion spacecraft speaks loudly of the world (literally!) fitting into a single frame.

All this to say, it isn’t any wonder writers have always been fond of windows.

So when scaffolding recently started appearing outside my window earlier this year, I had to admit I felt a little at a loss. Desperate even, as the plastic sheet followed.

My static yet full-of-life view was suddenly gone.

Having my windows taken away from me got me to appreciate them even more.

I’ve had to be resourceful like the nature from my childhood. To create a different type of frame inside my mind.

So, I’ve come to rely on my ability to hear. While I can’t see it at the moment, I can still hear London. Life goes on, the sounds of cars humming, emergency vehicles working hard, and children enjoying the summer.

It’s a good reminder for us storytellers about the many ways stories are enjoyed and told.

If you stare out of the same window, you need to stay alert and pay attention to all the small changes you are actually seeing every day. To avoid falling into the trap of thinking it’s all the same.

But also remember that you need to shift the frame every once in a while. To realise that there are other types of windows with just as wonderful views to discover. Your frame isn’t the whole world.

And most importantly, to make sure you’re not just looking out. Sometimes it’s important to turn inwards. What does the way I look out of the window tell about me?

For writing, I think it’s key to make sure to stay curious, to explore different frameworks and to remind yourself of the importance of being critical of the ‘ways of working’ that feel right to you.

Quite astonishing that a humble window has taught all this. So, thank you for all the windows I’ve ever looked out of and all the future frames that’ll help me discover even more.