I love the bright, jarring city lights.
Rustic beauty and rural charms do not besot me for long. Even the most beautiful, tranquil, nature infused vacation destinations bore me after a while.
I miss the zippy, hotfooted life. I miss the swift and purposeful existence. I yearn for the sense of belonging and familiarity that I feel with the city.
The throbbing pulse of a crazy, fast, bright city resembles my own mind- dotty, unhinged, agitated, quick and riotous.
There is one downside to living and loving the city life though; unlike the almost naive optimism of the village folk, the city breeds and propagates pessimism.
I am an innately pessimistic individual. I always foresee the drastic and deplorable scenarios as the most probable outcome of any situation. I see the darkness, even in the brilliantly bright.
I will not land that position, because the director is a prejudiced prick.
Oh! My little one might get sick…
What if your car crashes?
Moving to another country, again? Why?
We will never be able to visit there…
Oh! All is lost honey!
My life will never be the same again. And sooo not in a good way..
We live in an apocalyptic world, filled with doom and gloom. But ever so rarely, I have moments of pure, unbridled optimism. With help from The Mister, I do sometimes see the light, not only at the end of the proverbial tunnel but also within. They are not brought on by significant events or extraordinary circumstances. No. It is a quirk of the mind, a creation of it’s own making; usually triggered by the most inane and ordinary things and occurrences.
Yesterday, the trigger was the city lights.
The very lights that are a symbol of the city life that apparently breeds pessimism. The very lights, that are so ingrained in my life, that I rarely even notice it anymore.
The big city lights, which are a harbinger of haste and disillusionment; filled me with hope and optimism. All it took was a slowing of the pace. A stalling in time. Of stopping and reckoning. Of taking a step back.
Yesterday, the big city lights, their reflection on the still, crystal waters and nature’s beacon (the moon) all combined to portend happy days. They filled me with hope and optimism. They told me things will turn out alright. That I needn’t worry so much. That I need to stop running, at least occasionally. That happiness isn’t an illusion but an almost tangible reality of life.
I stare at the waterfront and mindlessly recite words from The Prophet-
“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
(- Kahlil Gibran)
But perhaps this would have been more apt-
In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.
Yes. I am hopeful. And optimistic. If only for the briefest of times!
Till next time..