My unfiltered thoughts about everything.
Warning: This post makes reference to stars.
It’s been a year for the ages in my small world. I can count the months back on a finger, and I was still living in the transience of Nevada, in the epicenter of a bustling, brightly lit universe bearing no resemblance to the calm darkness just outside my apartment here in Georgia. It’s still something of a revelation to wake up these days and feel a renewed sense of purpose. I have our time there to thank for that. There was something about going where I went, seeing what I saw, and coming back that left me feeling gratified, a bit more wise, and not a little humbled. It’s not every day you pick up everything you are, ship it out West, end up back where you started and bereft of regret. I’ve never had such a sense of closure about anything, such a satisfied feeling about where I’ve been and where I’m at. A lot of that satisfaction can be attributed to some innocent star gazing.
In Nevada, one of our favorite past times was staring out into the evening sky, typically cloudless and spectacular. It was simple, something you could do any night of the week, but it held resonance for me. There was a truth I derived from looking up into the vastness of it all. I felt compelled by it to reconsider my personal significance, even in contrast to the spectacle of wonderment above me. That desert sky had seen so much more than me, so many victories, perhaps even more failure. It got me thinking, mostly about time. Contemplating my own life , I started to think, more acutely, of where I wanted to go in the future, what I longed to do. Even as far fetched as the largest of my dreams may be, those stars made them small, made them attainable. I took from it the idea that if I had time, I had a chance. The caviot to that is I couldn’t WAIT. I couldn’t be so naive as to expect those things to fall into my lap.
In a place like Vegas, the losers and the winners are often mere seconds apart from role reversal. That’s the way LIFE is. What I learned, a little more each day I was out there, was that life never works into our personal time table. It never stops and starts according to my reservations or impulses. It goes on with or without me. Vegas was a great example of that. You can sleep, but the city is awake. You can leave , but it plods on. There’s no literal end to its cyclical nature. That was new for me, something I’d never known to be true in Georgia. And now that I’m back, the idea isn’t as visually present, but its comparable resemblance to life itself is still readily apparent. Life is short. The stars in the desert sky were Gods little reminder. And when I’m tempted to overestimate time, I flash a glance at the Georgia sky. The stars aren’t typically as clear, but you can seem them.