Autumn City
There’s an aspect of Summer nights that I love -
when dusk is away for almost too long, allowing more time for play, more time for creating under the watchful eye of the sun -
but I gotta say, being out at nightfall, knowing that there’re hours left until tomorrow, welcomes a calmness like a cup of hot tea.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a procrastinator and so believing that I have more hours of the evening to finish out the day helps me not feel so rushed to complete the unfinished. Maybe it’s because something about the night makes me wind down and so the earlier the nightfall, the longer the wind-down. Maybe it’s just the city glow complimenting my Christmas lights draped in the window.
I used to dream about nights like this: I remember living in my last home and I’d create the lighting I wanted in my bedroom - dim, always dim - and imagine what it would be like to live tucked away in the sky. I would imagine the view, the solace it brought.
And then what I imagined became reality, but we romanticize what we don’t know deeply (or maybe that’s just me).
What I didn’t anticipate was how much walking through the city neighborhoods alone can feel like being an outsider looking in. Historic, intentionally manicured homes are adorned with delicate lights hung over their porches, a dog sleeping on their stone steps, and the sounds of dinner conversation drifting at least three homes down. The drapes, if they’re even there, serve only as decoration as the windows are always open, indoor lights always on. It feels like a violation to see so much of a stranger’s house, and I wonder what it’s like to live in such security.
You see how easy to come down with a case of the-grass-is-always-greener-on-the-other-side because trying to Keep Up with the Jones’s is the thief of joy (or something like that)? It can be a real downer, honestly.
I find that cultivating a mindset of gratitude and mindfulness helps ensure I won’t overlook the blessings I have, the dream that became a reality because it’s always tempting to romanticize what I don’t know deeply, but it’s more fulfilling to dwell on what’s real and what’s mine.