And every morning (unless it was exceptionally cloudy) I watched the sunrise.
In my rearview mirror.
This was really quite a feat and not at all safe. Even as I drove I realized it was quite possible that one of those mornings I'd steer too far to the left and into the oncoming city-bound traffic, but I just couldn't help myself. I love watching the sun rise. When the sun was rising and there weren't cars in the lane next to me I would sneak glances out the back windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the yellows, oranges, pinks and blues that played across the horizon behind me.
Every afternoon during the month of October (M-F, with the exception of the week I spent in Tempe, Arizona) I intended to leave my office between 4:15 and 4:30 pm. Usually I was out the door by 5:00 pm. Sometimes I went straight home, but many days I stayed to run the country roads before heading home around 5:45 or 6:00, just in time to watch the sunset.
In my rearview mirror.
Once again, this was really quite a feat and not at all safe. Even as I drove I realized it was quite possible that one of those evenings I would steer too far to the left and into the oncoming suburb-bound traffic, but I just can't help myself. The one thing I love better than watching the sun rise is watching the sun set. When the sun was setting and there weren't cars in the lane next to me (and sometimes even when there are) I would sneak glances out the back windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gold, copper, pale yellow, and vibrant pink that played across the horizon behind me as they reached out to the darkening indigo sky above.
At first I took delight in playing this game; peaking out the windows and catching 3-second glimpses of the evolving atmosphere, but then I started to find it quite frustrating. I became so preoccupied with staring at the scenes behind me and longing for that which I was leaving, that I didn't really pay much attention to where I was going. Sometimes I missed my exits. Sometimes I drifted into the other lane without realizing it. Sometimes I let my fuel gauge get ridiculously low before I noticed I needed more gas.
I often struggle to fully enjoy and experience life as it is happening. Years of my childhood, the semester I spent in Oxford, portions of my life in Derby, weeks and months of the four years I spent at Northwestern College - all periods of my life that I didn't really appreciate until months or years after they ended. By the time I began to understand all that I'd had, it was too late. The hours I spent writing to college friends, looking at photos and recounting what had been could not take me back to that point in time; could not make things be the way they once were.
I watched a Nooma video this past summer that addressed the tendency to spend so much of life longing for the glory days (wishing things could be as they were back then, back when we were younger, happier, more centered, more free, more whatever) that they fail to see what is happening now. The concept was convicting (for lack of a less evangelical word). Similar to the way I'd been trying to watch the sun rise and set in my rearview mirror, I'd been caught up in memories of experiences and relationships in Oxford, Orange City, and England. And in the same way that the sun had been keeping me from watching the roads, my longing for what used to be was keeping me from experiencing the present.
October 30th I committed to taking a new position in Liberty, MO. November 2nd I made my last commute to and from Stilwell, KS. I no longer see the sun rise and set in my rearview mirror (due in part to my new location and in part to the time change). Coincidentally, I've stopped making efforts with unreciprocated past relationships. I've taken down old photos and redirected my bills to Kansas City, KS instead of Lincoln, NE. In days to come I mean to watch the sun rise, to meet it straight on even if it blinds me, and to be grateful for the time, place, and situation in which I find myself.
In my rearview mirror.
This was really quite a feat and not at all safe. Even as I drove I realized it was quite possible that one of those mornings I'd steer too far to the left and into the oncoming city-bound traffic, but I just couldn't help myself. I love watching the sun rise. When the sun was rising and there weren't cars in the lane next to me I would sneak glances out the back windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the yellows, oranges, pinks and blues that played across the horizon behind me.
Every afternoon during the month of October (M-F, with the exception of the week I spent in Tempe, Arizona) I intended to leave my office between 4:15 and 4:30 pm. Usually I was out the door by 5:00 pm. Sometimes I went straight home, but many days I stayed to run the country roads before heading home around 5:45 or 6:00, just in time to watch the sunset.
In my rearview mirror.
Once again, this was really quite a feat and not at all safe. Even as I drove I realized it was quite possible that one of those evenings I would steer too far to the left and into the oncoming suburb-bound traffic, but I just can't help myself. The one thing I love better than watching the sun rise is watching the sun set. When the sun was setting and there weren't cars in the lane next to me (and sometimes even when there are) I would sneak glances out the back windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gold, copper, pale yellow, and vibrant pink that played across the horizon behind me as they reached out to the darkening indigo sky above.
At first I took delight in playing this game; peaking out the windows and catching 3-second glimpses of the evolving atmosphere, but then I started to find it quite frustrating. I became so preoccupied with staring at the scenes behind me and longing for that which I was leaving, that I didn't really pay much attention to where I was going. Sometimes I missed my exits. Sometimes I drifted into the other lane without realizing it. Sometimes I let my fuel gauge get ridiculously low before I noticed I needed more gas.
I often struggle to fully enjoy and experience life as it is happening. Years of my childhood, the semester I spent in Oxford, portions of my life in Derby, weeks and months of the four years I spent at Northwestern College - all periods of my life that I didn't really appreciate until months or years after they ended. By the time I began to understand all that I'd had, it was too late. The hours I spent writing to college friends, looking at photos and recounting what had been could not take me back to that point in time; could not make things be the way they once were.
I watched a Nooma video this past summer that addressed the tendency to spend so much of life longing for the glory days (wishing things could be as they were back then, back when we were younger, happier, more centered, more free, more whatever) that they fail to see what is happening now. The concept was convicting (for lack of a less evangelical word). Similar to the way I'd been trying to watch the sun rise and set in my rearview mirror, I'd been caught up in memories of experiences and relationships in Oxford, Orange City, and England. And in the same way that the sun had been keeping me from watching the roads, my longing for what used to be was keeping me from experiencing the present.
October 30th I committed to taking a new position in Liberty, MO. November 2nd I made my last commute to and from Stilwell, KS. I no longer see the sun rise and set in my rearview mirror (due in part to my new location and in part to the time change). Coincidentally, I've stopped making efforts with unreciprocated past relationships. I've taken down old photos and redirected my bills to Kansas City, KS instead of Lincoln, NE. In days to come I mean to watch the sun rise, to meet it straight on even if it blinds me, and to be grateful for the time, place, and situation in which I find myself.
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