Monday Morning Self Discovery

As I was driving and daydreaming that day, Rolling Stones by Wild Rivers played. The first time it came on I just listened, then felt compelled to restart it, and this time I sang along. I was singing when a particularly large raindrop caught my eye as it hit the drivers side window, and behind that droplet was a house I’ve seen many times before. I thought about that house for a moment and my mind so generously gave me memories of when I first began working in this area. I would drive by that house every day and every day I would think to myself about how beautiful it was. A large colonial style home that had a particular warmth to it, the black shutters and door a wonderful contrast to ever pristine whiteness of it. Although it stood out wonderfully in the dreary December rain wearing it's wreaths proudly, I had always thought it looked magnificent. I remembered fondly how I would always crane my neck to look at it when I drove by. When did I stop doing that? It's still a beautiful home and I still believe in that fact but when did I stop looking to appreciate it? When did it subconsciously become another mundane part of my life, and is it possible I do that with everything? I thought about this as I was singing along and oddly enough, I realized that my eyes were filled with tears. Not a typical sort of welled up eyes, but the kind of tears that scratch from underneath the skin on your cheeks as if every ounce of sorrow is trying to escape through your pores. I think I was sad about more than a few things that I had yet to analyze, instead put in a locker in the pit of my stomach to save for a later time.

I realized one of the reasons for feeling this way was how badly I have always wanted to, and especially in that particular moment, pack up and leave. I want to wrap myself around the globe like my parents would wrap a gift for me as a child. Funny how admiring a beautiful structure that signifies stability, can also make me passionately crave just the opposite. I suppose I’m that way with a lot of things. I adore traveling and the novelty of things, and how I hate thinking of leaving those parents who both intentionally and unintentionally prepared me to do just that. I cried because the novelty of this life I have here has long worn off and I notice there are parts I have forgotten to appreciate. There are things I want to run to, and others I want to run from. The warmth seems to always be elsewhere, and I feel a need to pursue it like a child chasing after a bird that has briefly landed. Never getting a hold of it, never to keep.

I think I was happy too, and I cried because I was thankful to a raindrop of all things. The oversized water droplet that was responsible for my realization that I am far too attached to the idea of novelty, and it causes me to ache to run from any roots I let grow. I am surrounded by what I admire, dreaming of being anywhere else. I chase the unfamiliarity's and because of that, forgotten appreciations trail behind me everywhere I go. This isn't something I knew about myself before this raindrop, and I cried because although I had forgotten, the house still stands and it is still beautiful.