I've been mulling over this photo for the past week, along with a vertical one taken out of my airplane window a few minutes before…
…and I've been trying to come up with a brilliantly written post.
Sunsets like that should be accompanied by words about beginnings or endings or final days or some such, but.
We're just in the middle.
In the middle of our marriage.
In the middle of childrearing.
In the middle of our lives.
In the middle of making our million.
…wait, no, actually, we're not even close to that. Not a fraction of close to that. I meant,we're..
In the middle of our dreams for the future.
In the middle of maturity.
So a sunset over Atlanta means, to me, that it's simply the middle of my journey from Chicago to Florida.
There's nothing spectacular about the middle.
It's not a fresh beginning.
It's not a satisfying ending.
The days can be ho-hum.
A moment is often the same as the last.
There aren't awards for being in the middle.
There aren't ribbons to cut.
But it's where we are.
I like it here, in the middle.
It feels just right, for now.