I knew– I've known, for almost two months– there would be a point when this post would come spilling out. Even so, it's hard to put into words. But, since that's kind of the point of a blog, let's try:
I'm surprised at how deeply content I am.
I'm surprised that I could turn a big, strange city hundreds of miles from home into just that: a home. It's not a real home, obviously, and every root I lay goes down with a bit of sadness, knowing it's just a temporary thing. But still.
The contentment shouldn't be a surprise, knowing that I am provided for and cared for eternally, but being able to find happiness in the daily grind of a strange new life has been surprisingly easy, and for that I'm so, so thankful.
One of the best lines from all nine seasons of The Office came in the final minutes of the entire series. It stopped everyone who was watching in their tracks, and it's stuck with me ever since. As everything is winding down, and you know it's all just about over, Andy Bernard says,
"I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them."
But here's the thing: I think you can know.
You know you're in the good days when the day feels endless, but in the best possible way, like you have hours and hours to do anything and go anywhere. When the day actually does end, you're exhausted, probably with messy hair and tired feet, but you don't even mind, because you feel accomplished, full, satisfied. Like maybe aesthetically you're not at your prettiest, but in some other, less tangible way, you absolutely are.
For whatever reason, I've been more aware of the golden hour this summer than ever before. My parents call that time, the moments just before sunset, "karma time." I'm not completely sure why they call it that. I think it has something to do with feeling like you've got all the good karma in the world. All I know is that for the first thirteen years of my life, I thought everyone used that phrase, and I had no idea they made it up.
Anyway, today was one of those days when golden hour seemed to stretch on forever. Today was hot, muggy, but windy, like the best, gentlest version of an Alabama summer. I sat downtown, watching soccer in the plaza with hundreds of strangers, but I was in awe of the light bouncing off all the skyscraper windows. I rode a bus out to a part of town I'd never been to, and found myself watching the city bustle from a distance. As I type, it's last light, when the traffic slows down and the hardwood floors in my kitchen are at their warmest after being flooded with sunlight all day. The golden hour feels never-ending, and everything feels right.
In this rambly, twisty, messy piece, what I'm trying to say is this: these are the days.
The good, long, complete, full, exhausting, adventurous, wonderful days.
I'm surprised at how deeply content I am.
I'm surprised that I could turn a big, strange city hundreds of miles from home into just that: a home. It's not a real home, obviously, and every root I lay goes down with a bit of sadness, knowing it's just a temporary thing. But still.
The contentment shouldn't be a surprise, knowing that I am provided for and cared for eternally, but being able to find happiness in the daily grind of a strange new life has been surprisingly easy, and for that I'm so, so thankful.
----------
One of the best lines from all nine seasons of The Office came in the final minutes of the entire series. It stopped everyone who was watching in their tracks, and it's stuck with me ever since. As everything is winding down, and you know it's all just about over, Andy Bernard says,
"I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them."
But here's the thing: I think you can know.
You know you're in the good days when the day feels endless, but in the best possible way, like you have hours and hours to do anything and go anywhere. When the day actually does end, you're exhausted, probably with messy hair and tired feet, but you don't even mind, because you feel accomplished, full, satisfied. Like maybe aesthetically you're not at your prettiest, but in some other, less tangible way, you absolutely are.
For whatever reason, I've been more aware of the golden hour this summer than ever before. My parents call that time, the moments just before sunset, "karma time." I'm not completely sure why they call it that. I think it has something to do with feeling like you've got all the good karma in the world. All I know is that for the first thirteen years of my life, I thought everyone used that phrase, and I had no idea they made it up.
Anyway, today was one of those days when golden hour seemed to stretch on forever. Today was hot, muggy, but windy, like the best, gentlest version of an Alabama summer. I sat downtown, watching soccer in the plaza with hundreds of strangers, but I was in awe of the light bouncing off all the skyscraper windows. I rode a bus out to a part of town I'd never been to, and found myself watching the city bustle from a distance. As I type, it's last light, when the traffic slows down and the hardwood floors in my kitchen are at their warmest after being flooded with sunlight all day. The golden hour feels never-ending, and everything feels right.
In this rambly, twisty, messy piece, what I'm trying to say is this: these are the days.
The good, long, complete, full, exhausting, adventurous, wonderful days.