A late evening, talking

It was such a wonderful evening I didn't, initially, want to attend.

I learned a lot about some people I work with, and their partners, and families. During one talk with a middle-aged man I almost cried because I thought, it's the sort of a talk I never had with my father, and would've so benefited if I'd had - we talked about relationships and about being a parent and about the importance of time, and commitment.

A few minutes' ride in a car and I learned about another person's heartache, a pretty impressively honest account, actually.

A few meaningful conversations that have left me, on one hand, feeling connected and on the other, so confused because I am thinking, where do I fit in this picture?

It's a curse I have, and a blessing.

I think I'm good at interviewing because I dive into another person's story and I make it my own. I feel through it and I write about it as much as I understand it - it's the thing that made me a feature writer, but so not a reporter.

But the other side of that is, when I've finally said goodbye and gone home, I have trouble distinguishing which part of that story is theirs and which one's mine.

And so I kneel in front of the laptop here to write about it so I can get at least a few thoughts out of my head so I can maybe sleep better.

It's been such a difficult week to sleep in.

Good night, friends.

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