The difference of a year.
What's the difference of a year?
For me, it's all about location.
Location, location, location.
Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.
Physically, it's approximately 2,119.65 miles.
Mentally, it's the confidence and independence of having a full-time job, a paid-off car, and a ready supply of fresh-pressed juice and live-streaming college football.
Spiritually, I might be on the same plane of elation the Israelites had leaving the Sinai after 40 years of wandering.
I forgot all that for a few moments this week. But then I remembered in a moment of frustration, as I looked up from my desk and saw Camelback Mountain. I see it everyday, because it's right there in front of me and there are no foggy days in Phoenix. I remembered how a year ago this month, I saw that same mountain from Sky Harbor International during a layover. I was running away from the frustrations of unemployment, a continually disappointing job search, and a general sense of malaise. I had saved up a small stash of cash and spent my credit card points on a flight to San Diego where I would stay with my cousin and her husband. Planning for that trip was the most relief I'd had in months. For a few days, I'd forget I had no job and that no jobs were calling me. I'd forget that someone I thought I'd maybe marry was engaged to a beauty queen (a legit beauty queen). I'd go and dig my toes into the California sand, close my eyes and breathe deeply of the sea air, and savor every second of sunshine.
But before the adventure could begin, I had to spend some time in Phoenix at the airport. I wandered around the terminal and drifted to a wall of windows overlooking the runway and what I would later learn was Camelback Mountain. I was tempted to press my nose against the glass and take in every detail of the foreign desert landscape beyond. Instead, I snapped a quick photo and set off to find coffee.
Believe me when I say that never--never, ever, ever--in my wildest, craziest, most insane dreams, did I ever imagine that less than one year later, I would be living in Phoenix, sweating to death, staring at that same mountain everyday. But God kinda has a funny sense of humor. In the grand scheme of life, I have no idea why Phoenix. My internship in DC made me fall in love with the city; I have close friends and a church there. Why not DC? Years of hockey camp established a home-away-from-home situation in South Florida. Why not there? Chicago could be my second city for the amount of friends and family I have there. Plus I have an impressive collection of winter boots. Why not Chicago? Or Boston? Or San Diego?
Whatever the reason, each day my new mantra is "Sun's up. Palms up." Daily surrender. And possibly surprise.
For me, it's all about location.
Location, location, location.
Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.
Physically, it's approximately 2,119.65 miles.
Mentally, it's the confidence and independence of having a full-time job, a paid-off car, and a ready supply of fresh-pressed juice and live-streaming college football.
Spiritually, I might be on the same plane of elation the Israelites had leaving the Sinai after 40 years of wandering.
I forgot all that for a few moments this week. But then I remembered in a moment of frustration, as I looked up from my desk and saw Camelback Mountain. I see it everyday, because it's right there in front of me and there are no foggy days in Phoenix. I remembered how a year ago this month, I saw that same mountain from Sky Harbor International during a layover. I was running away from the frustrations of unemployment, a continually disappointing job search, and a general sense of malaise. I had saved up a small stash of cash and spent my credit card points on a flight to San Diego where I would stay with my cousin and her husband. Planning for that trip was the most relief I'd had in months. For a few days, I'd forget I had no job and that no jobs were calling me. I'd forget that someone I thought I'd maybe marry was engaged to a beauty queen (a legit beauty queen). I'd go and dig my toes into the California sand, close my eyes and breathe deeply of the sea air, and savor every second of sunshine.
But before the adventure could begin, I had to spend some time in Phoenix at the airport. I wandered around the terminal and drifted to a wall of windows overlooking the runway and what I would later learn was Camelback Mountain. I was tempted to press my nose against the glass and take in every detail of the foreign desert landscape beyond. Instead, I snapped a quick photo and set off to find coffee.
Believe me when I say that never--never, ever, ever--in my wildest, craziest, most insane dreams, did I ever imagine that less than one year later, I would be living in Phoenix, sweating to death, staring at that same mountain everyday. But God kinda has a funny sense of humor. In the grand scheme of life, I have no idea why Phoenix. My internship in DC made me fall in love with the city; I have close friends and a church there. Why not DC? Years of hockey camp established a home-away-from-home situation in South Florida. Why not there? Chicago could be my second city for the amount of friends and family I have there. Plus I have an impressive collection of winter boots. Why not Chicago? Or Boston? Or San Diego?
Maybe God just wanted to show me a new place. Maybe He just wanted to remind me there is beauty in the desert. Maybe it's just so I'll always have the Camelback Mountain memory. And the reminder that God likes to surprise us.
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| What are the odds? |
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