Moving On

Last night a thunderstorm passed over my home in Metro Atlanta. The winds were so violent in fact, that it knocked some power lines down causing Renee and I to lose power for a period of five hours (much to my disappointment). During that timeframe I discovered that this self-proclaimed quiet guy is not so quiet after all (much to Renee's disappointment). To put it simply, I just couldn't shut up. My laptop was dead, my throat was sore, it was hot inside, I couldn't find the flashlight, I found the flashlight, I broke the flashlight, I couldn't make netflix work on my iPhone (yes, I was THAT desperate), I wanted to see the storm, I went outside, it was windy outside, I couldn't find my jacket.... and the list goes on.

When I finally did shut up long enough to find my jacket and walk outside, I was taken back by the sheer magnitude of the storm as it approached. The whole world outside my home had been transformed. No longer was there green grass, red shutters, brown earth. Instead, everything had been cast in a muted blue, almost as if to point out how ordinary things were on ground level. The real spectacle was in the sky. I cannot properly describe to you how the lightning flashed and lit up the night like a conductor orchestrating a great symphony. Nor could I ever depict the way in which the wind swept in, breathing life and leaving me breathless all in one instance. It reminded me of my hometown in Tennessee, where every Spring and Fall great winds sweep down the mountainside, all the while gaining momentum until it reaches the valley below. Most people rush indoors to bide their time until the winds have passed. I, on the other hand, rush to be outdoors to enjoy the strength of the winds and the sounds of the thunder- there's just something about a good storm that begs for participation.

As I stood outside, marveling at how much time I wasted complaining, a new thought occurred to me. For many years I spent all of my best efforts trying to fix what was already broken. In a sense, I was fumbling around in the dark trying to make it all work, not understanding why it never did. I was unable to accept three simple things that I now believe to be true: My past is imperfect. My past does not define me. My past is past. Last night's storm was an interruption of sorts, but it reminded me that in order to walk away from my past and out of the darkness, I simply need to just walk away. I do not intend to forget it ever happened- I don't think that is possible. I fully expect to continue writing about it and support those who do the same. What I mean is that sometimes I need to just shut up and enjoy the beauty of the storm.