An Ode to Windows
Pandemics, in general, have little to recommend them. For the very luckiest among us, 2020 has become an all-consuming endurance challenge as we ride out the social isolation of lockdown. But while it’s easy to fixate on our losses and feel boxed into our homes, certain physical features of these homes do offer a glimmer of light (both literally and figuratively speaking). You might even say that when one door closes, a window opens.
Take this little snapshot from Ireland: a photo showing—separated by a pane of glass—a grandfather meeting his newborn grandson for the first time. Wait. That’s not it. It shows—connected by a pane of glass—a grandfather meeting his newborn grandson for the first time.
Yes, amidst the global whirlwind of COVID-19, windows are truly having a moment.
We’ve long taken them for granted, these portals to the outdoors. They’ve just…always been there. Something to clean, something to replace. But they saw out the Plague and the Spanish flu, and survived to tell the tale. Windows are fast becoming the architectural heroes of this disaster movie. As if scripted and directed by their own national tourist boards, people around the world have been utilizing them in characteristically charming ways to come together during lockdown.
Italians, for example, have been lifting their spirits by leaning out into the night sky and singing in unison, their steadfast syllables intertwining in the dark. And this practice doesn’t just pass the time; research has shown that group singing provides significant benefits for health and happiness (which are otherwise at risk of becoming as scarce as toilet paper).
Further west, a police siren lets restless Spanish citizens know that it’s time to throw open their windows. On the street below, officers pull over and strum acoustic guitars to serenade the confined locals, providing much-needed entertainment, and breaking down social barriers in the process.
Even in the notoriously reserved UK, where I’m based, we’ve been giving standing ovations from our open windows, showing appreciation to the National Health Service. Sure, our silhouettes might look stiff and stoic from a distance, but when the clapping finally dissipates and we heave down our sash windows with stinging palms, I always descend into a puddle of happy tears. And I’m not the only one sobbing from my windowsill, my absent friends reassure me. We might spend much of lockdown united by stress, boredom, frustration, and confusion, but those few minutes of communal optimism fire me up with 100 volts to recharge my emotional batteries.
Cut to Portland, Oregon, where dating has been locked down along with everything else. A man is caught on camera pouring wine from his window, for his laughing neighbor downstairs to catch in her glass. That’s something worth toasting, isn’t it?
Next time you take your daily walk, look closely at all the windows you pass. Count the happy little teddies that have been lovingly placed to look out at the world. See how many painted rainbows are tacked up to the panes of glass. These are the breadcrumb trails left by children and their families to say Wow, this sucks. But we’re here. It’s going to be OK.
There is hope. There is connection. There is solidarity. In this global pandemic, our doors may be closed, but our windows are open.
Originally Appeared on Architectural Digest
