All of the inspiration I need is in the stars.
I went running tonight, as usual. It’s been too hot to run during the day recently, and I like running beneath the stars best, anyway.
If there is one area in which Taiwan does not not compare to Northern California, it is the night sky. The humidity in Taiwan and, in many places, the smog and bright lights, make star-gazing an almost impossible dream.
In Northern California, on a moonless night, they’re all you see.
But I was worried, tonight, that I hadn’t been clear in my last post. You see, although I loved Taiwan, it would be a lie to say that I loved every minute I was there. There were most certainly things I didn’t like, and at times I craved nothing more than the dry breeze and mountain air I breathed tonight. The point is, though, that no extremes—in temperature, weather, or whatever—are fun for long in the place you call home. While in Taiwan, I often took comfort in the fact that I had an arid home to go home to—even if just for a few weeks out of the year. I also looked at the often-uncomfortable climate as simply being a part of the package that went along with living there: If I wanted to experience Taiwan and all of its adventurous glory, I had to experience the humidity that went along with it.
. . . I had to look for the good to find my way through the bad.
Sounds a little like life, doesn’t it?
And I guess maybe I’m just weird. My difficulty in dealing with the recent heat at home lies in the fact that, a) The weather at home isn’t supposed to be like this, and b) If it is like this, well, what do I have to look to to get me through it? Everything here is status quo: People are coming and going and living their busy lives and not really thinking beyond the here and now or about what else might be out there. It’s a small world and a life I’ve decided I don’t want. I said in my post about “dreamers” that I had a dream to write, and I do. But, I’ve realized recently that it’s far more than that, too. I don’t just want to write. I want to write about SOMETHING. Something far bigger than myself or even the story on the front page of the newspaper. The world needs a glimpse of just how big—and how small—the world is and why the way a person on the other side of the planet lives should matter to them.
The world needs a bigger heart, and I want to give it to them.
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”— Oscar Wilde
“I don’t know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.”
— Vincent Van Gogh