In the back room of my Atlanta home, there are two walls that are made almost entirely of windows. It’s my absolute favorite room in the house (even if it is the coldest). My backyard is composed of trees big and tall, small and thin. Their branches create big shapes in the sky that canopy over the grass beneath my deck. During the summer, as the sun would set, streaks of yellow and pink would squirm their way through the leafy shapes. I thought to myself, “I can’t wait for winter, when the trees are bare and I can see the sun setting through their limbs.” I have a front row seat to one of the best shows nature has to offer, and I get to watch every evening from the comfort of my own home.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the future recently. And the past. And the present. I’ve spent moments dreaming of what I hope my life will look like in years to come, I’ve used moments dwelling on circumstances of the past that I cannot change, I’ve enjoyed moments of trying to soak up each day as it happens. There’s something about the beginning of a new year that does that to you, I think. Tomorrow I turn 24.
A piece of me begs to hang on to 23, to hang on to an age I won’t ever get back, a youthful bliss that only comes with being exactly 23, but tomorrow I will be 24. I don’t suppose that suddenly aged wisdom will descend upon me at the stroke of midnight, but something will change on November 30th. All year, I have been like the trees in my backyard. I have been going through seasons. Budding, then blooming, and finally laid bare. Bones exposed, through the shapes that my lungs create over my heart. I can feel the beating in my chest.
I like to think that sunsets tell stories. The brighter the colors, the more adventurous the day, perhaps. An invitation to laugh. Duller hues, a call to be quiet. To be thankful, to pray. These days my heartbeat is telling me a story, too. For so long I’ve been afraid to listen–it’s been loud, but I’ve chosen earplugs.
Twenty -four, here’s to you. Here’s to my heart. Here’s to being comfortable bare. Here’s to listening. Here’s to praying more and laughing louder. Here’s to dancing in the kitchen. Here’s to tattoos. Here’s to memorizing Scripture. Here’s to the inevitable tears. Here’s to the sleepless nights. Here’s to long naps. Here’s to corporate worship. Here’s to bold coffee. Here’s to loud concerts. Here’s to waffles. Here’s to red wine. Here’s to crosswalks and cityscapes. Here’s to commuting to work. Here’s to friendship–new and old. Here’s to family. Here’s to you. Here’s to me. Here’s to hope. Here’s to love. Here’s to freedom.
Thank you for sunsets, for you love, and for my life.]