Chasing Sunsets

The first night week month in a new place is weird.  It doesn’t feel like home.  First off, cardboard reeks.  Attempting to function out of cardboard boxes: also undesirable.  Meeting new neighbors: fun but odd, especially if we meet as I’m hauling boxes on a 90 degree day.  [Well hello, dog living 20 feet from my bedroom window.  My morning is fine without events that spur (in)voluntary profanity and fight-or-flight spasms.  Thanks anyway.  #thingsiwillmisssomeday]

The first night, I was tired, but determined to be crowned victorious over all that is ‘moving’.  So I went on a walk.  Two things I knew I’d miss about the old apt: 1) my porch and 2) my 3^rd story windows that faced West.  I’d see things like this every night:

I spy a hot air balloon off in the distance...see it?  Toward the left.

So ugly, I know.

 Leaving cardboard behind, I set off at dusk to navigate the neighborhood in hopes of finding a lookout like the one I was missing.  It was nice, warm, peaceful, and I saw the sunset, but no view compared to the fields and open sky from up high. 

view from new place + clouds MIA + self-fulfilling prophecy = mediocre sunset

I wanted to never miss the sunset, to always have it with me.  Taking that (impossible) wish to its logical (not feasible) end; the only way to have a never-ending sunset is to hop on a jet that flew fast enough and low enough to get it all ‘just right’.  But then I’d never be on the ground, I'd probably be motion sick, and likely terrified.

“Just let the sun set.”

I was chasing the sunset and missing the beauty.  I felt like I wanted something so big, like I was missing something so much.  I didn't even know quite what I wanted or what I was missing.  But dear Mr. Lewis, (a co-author of the site – you didn't know?) eloquently clarifies the angst and the next best step…

"The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. 
These things - the beauty, the memory of our own past - are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers.  For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never visited."

 Here’s to the Giver of the sunsets, the longing, and the glorious days ahead.   

Listen to this: it's a goodie.  "This Side" by Nickel Creek 

See, it's not so bad after all.  11/24/12