It was dark when I got home tonight.
A few years ago, when Rachel was still here, I hated getting home in the dark. It seemed dreadfully unfair. I had someone waiting for me. It seemed like I was missing time she and I could have been spending together just because the sun was down. I know that doesn’t really make sense. Truthfully, we never did anything outside together anyway. We’d talk and maybe laugh and watch TV together and then I’d shower and go to bed and she’d stay up all night and sleep during the day. Still, I resented it. I felt like I was missing out.
It turns out I was missing out, just not on the thing I thought I was missing. I was missing out on the charcoal-sketched shapes of trees in my yard. I was missing out on the sound of crickets and frogs and furry animals scurrying through the bushes. If I did make it home while the sun was up, I missed seeing the tall grasses in the marshy land next to my yard or the sun on the pond. I missed everything around me. Back then, the sounds of scurrying animals would have made me nervous anyway. Seems like everything did. I was afraid of missing out, afraid of getting cheated out of something, afraid of not being good enough, afraid of failing. Afraid. Afraid. Afraid. What I was truly afraid of was losing control and having the balls I was constantly juggling all fall down.
Control is an illusion.
If you think you’re the one keeping all the balls in the air, prepare for the crash.
Fear brings forth the object of itself.
I really can’t recommend losing everything you’ve built your life around. It’s a painful thing. One thing about it, though, it takes away fear. If you feel like you’ve lost everything, you don’t have to fear losing anything anymore. It can also help you take a look around and see the things that really surround you in your life. It gives…perspective. It separates the dross from the gold.
I’ve discovered I actually like riding home after sunset. I heard the crickets tonight.