I have a new favorite view. It's not particularly beautiful or awe-inspiring. It's almost embarrassing how incredibly normal this view is—yet there is something peaceful and serene about it. It's outside my apartment, standing in the street, looking over the crest of the hill towards downtown Wheaton. It's a somewhat dangerous place to stand. Tonight I stood there, blasting my ipod and looking away from the flow of traffic. Not exactly wise.
The road is perfectly straight, creating a sensation very similar to gazing down long, parallel train tracks. The hill crests in such a way as to create the perfect balance of things visible and things obscured. Some things that are quite near are obscured from view, while some things distant are visible, yet hazy. If you go out at just the right time and stand in the right place, the red traffic lights flash and intermittantly light up the road in front of them.
It's like looking forward into life—the distant end is visible, yet unclear. Along the way are many things, visible and invisible. Wesley St. is in disrepair. Driving towards Wheaton, it's impossible to avoid the potholes. And really, the distant end of the road isn't very beautiful by my standards. But it's the way the road goes; the path, though hidden and bumpy, is the path.
In the distant future is something barely visible: a flashing traffic light, a flickering candle. It's the end of this path. And if you look at it just the right way, you can see how beautiful it really is.
In the distant future is something barely visible: a flashing traffic light, a flickering candle. It's the end of this path. And if you look at it just the right way, you can see how beautiful it really is.
1 comment:
And how thrilling that we cannot know what is up ahead! There is beauty in the haze. We know that after dodging a few pot holes, we will eventually get to our destination. But there is so much we don't know and cannot predict. The unexpected blessings that rise out of the fog or the glaring sun--such as stopping to talk with a neighbor who rounds the corner while pushing a baby stroller--allow us to always walk with great hope and anticipation for the moment, not just for our arrival at our destination.
So many times we need our destination to pull us through to those moments, otherwise we would stagnate. And at the same time, those moments are what lay the stones to get us to the destination. Is it wrong to say one is not more important than the other?
To quote a profound philosopher of our age, Feist:
"And we'll collect the moments one by one/ I guess that's how the future's done."
The future's beauty is comprised of the present.
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