Growth is painful. Change is painful.But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don’t belong.Mandy Hale (via basicsofman)
Since I’ve been home I’ve been driving my brother’s old car. It’s basically a hail-dented cockpit with an engine. When I first drove it yesterday, I didn’t like the seats, the clutch, the mirrors, the stereo, the seat belts…
But tonight I drove into the prairie at sunset and back home in the dark, and I loved everything about it. The shape of the shift knob felt right in my hand — better than any car I’ve driven. The pulsing reverb from the engine wasn’t annoying, but a pleasing confirmation. Even the way the whole thing shook when I slowed down to a stop was a little charming.
Only one thing broke this weird little trance: just as I was crossing back into town, the most singularly perfect cricket chirp came through the window. I was driving 60 mph. I was listening to music. I can’t even begin to explain the physics of the situation. It’s impossible. But I heard this cricket just as clear as if it had been sitting on my shoulder.
I don’t have any mystical conclusions to make here except to say that this was a scientific miracle. There’s no reason that I should have been able to hear this cricket, and yet I did. I am quietly stunned.
I caught a ride from a friend tonight as I was traveling from Virginia back to DC. I inadvertently (OK, I walked the wrong way) ended up going on foot from downtown Arlington back up into Georgetown, where I caught my neighborhood bus.
I stopped in a park along the way to look at the stars. I counted 11.
I remember telling Jenny a long time ago something along the lines of, “I never want to live in a place where I can’t see the stars at night.”
Look at me now, standing in the middle of a field, counting, shaking my head — that can’t be right — and counting again.