Inspired by the view last night across the creek, I've been thinking about how things look from outside.
When Chris and I got married we had a mini-moon and went to the North Shore (north of Boston yet still in Massachusetts). Our first destination was Rockport, where we drove and walked and explored and decided important things about our new marriage such as where to stay and what to have for dinner.
At one point we had a beautiful view of the harbor at twilight. There was a restaurant right on the water and it looked simply magical - what with all those people sitting in the twinkly lights having dinner in this beautiful spot. We envied them and decided to have dinner there.
We got a table by the window and now - voilà! - we were those people.
And that's when we noticed that if you are sitting in the twinkling lights you can't actually see the twinkly lights. In fact, all we could see from the window was darkness. They could at least have floated some candles in the harbor for us, no?
Fortunately this was not a metaphor for our marriage.
Or maybe it was. Because since there was nothing but darkness outside, we turned our attention to the menu in front of us.
And then because we are poor planners and because the thrill of the hunt is half the adventure, we started looking for a place to stay.
We found a place that was also right on the water, The Yankee Clipper Inn. We fell asleep to the sound of waves on the shore. When we woke up we watched lobstermen check their traps. It was every bit as beautiful and perfect as we thought it would be. And we found it because we drove by and noticed the lights reflected in the water.
Sometimes I drive up to Trout Towers in the evening when all the lights are on inside and I think now there's a place I'd like to be.
In partial darkness you don't see the unfinished projects, and the lights look like a big Welcome sign.
Sometimes when I get bogged down and frustrated I have to step outside and look back at my home from a quieter perspective.
And that is a metaphor for life.