Aging brick row houses. Apartment buildings with bold banners promoting leases and their latest deals. Grey skies, hazy clouds. Every part of the horizon is different here. It’s uncomfortable, it’s unfamiliar. It’s new.
I don’t like it. I miss the horizons of home. I miss the clear skies. I miss the mountains. The pine trees.
What I miss most? The single apple tree. The apple tree that never blossomed. The apple tree that became the golf target. The apple tree that was the marker we ran to in the summertime. The apple tree that always was.
It was comfortable, it was home. It was everything I knew and it was everything I wanted.
I miss what’s comfortable; what I know best. Those sunrises, the ones I always wish I photographed so I had them for later. My heart aches for them. My heart aches for home.
But I was told, that these horizons, they’re much wider. “Oh, you just need to broaden your horizons, Jess.” I’ve heard it time and time again.
And I did once. I broadened my horizons once.
I left that apple tree, I left the clear night skies I loved. I broadened the horizons I knew and I replaced them, filling them with new trees, no stars, new buildings and their light pollution.
I left what was comfortable. I walked out on the plank. I dove in, I took a chance.
I don’t like to take chances. I don’t like to hear the word “no.” I don’t like to take risks, to get hurt. I don’t like to lose my confidence–to feel shaken.
The new trees on the horizon tell me no. The new trees on the horizon scare me. The new trees, the hazy skies, the empty nights. They say no, they freeze me out.
And yet, they’re what everyone wanted for me. Wide. Broad. Different and new.
I don’t know what’s next, but we may find out–when the sunlight makes it over the trees.