Standing next to the work

A woman in Heliopolis sews children's clothes in her flat and sells them by message. She cuts on the dining table and delivers on Thursdays.

Her evenings fill up with things that feel like her business and are not.

A cake seller in another city has gone everywhere this week, and she reads every comment under every post. A fabric house is clearing out a cotton she stopped using two years ago, and she spends an hour deciding whether to buy a roll anyway. A friend from her old office has opened a shop in a completely different trade, and she finds herself studying his prices.

Not one of these changes a single order. Each of them just sits close enough to her world to set off an alarm.

Closeness is a very good impersonation of importance. Anything that brushes against our trade, our past, our habits or our neighbours feels like it must be about us. The things that really are about us rarely make that noise. The mother who asked whether the summer dress comes in the next size up. The hem two customers have quietly mentioned. The Thursday route that keeps running an hour late.

Those are dull, and they are hers, and every hour spent on the nearby things is an hour taken from them.

The nearby things will keep arriving every evening. The only skill that helps is noticing the difference between near and about. Most of what catches my eye is only standing beside what matters.