Lights Across the Water

When I was a little girl, there was a highway my family used to drive on in our city. It could take you from downtown all the way out to the valley (a drive that took all of about 25 minutes). My family lived right in the middle of this road, neither in the valley, nor downtown. I remember as a kid feeling like the peace keeper, the middle-man. Whenever we would take this highway downtown at night, I would stare out my window in awe. My brother always made me sit on the seat on the left hand side of the car. I didn't think it was fair, because it meant no matter which direction we went I always had to stare at oncoming traffic and he always got the beautiful view of mountains and water and glaciers and sky. But whenever we drove downtown at night, I didn't mind having to sit in the left hand seat so much. There was a set of lakes on the way that made it feel as though the highway was floating on water. On my brothers side was the Gastineau Channel, and on my side was Twin Lakes (which was exactly what the name of the area implies). What fascinated me most though wasn't so much the lakes but the lights. You see, where I grew up, the city was basically built on the edge of the mountains, and right next to these lakes was a particularly steep mountain with houses and streets climbing up its side. Whenever we would drive downtown at night, the lights from these houses would reflect in the lakes below, and their elegance would mystify me. I would imagine vast, endless cities existing right below the surface. Like in Star Wars, people just going about their daily lives completely unaware of the people living in the world above them, who in turn were completely unaware of their existence.

Growing up in Alaska, there were no horizon lines. If I ever saw lights at night across a great distance, they were unquestioningly across a body of water like the Twin Lakes. So, when my family moved to Tucson, Arizona when I was 15 years old,  mountains and enclosed spaces were all that I knew. As my dad and I drove from Phoenix to Tucson, I remember seeing lights farther off in the distance than I had ever seen before. While I consciously knew that there couldn't be water between them and me, as we were basically in the middle of a desert, my brain couldn't comprehend what could possibly exist in that vast space if not water. How could land simply spread out like that? I often think back on that feeling of mental comprehension, but instinctive confusion when I am faced with new or confusing situations. I remember the comprehension which came over time as I gained experience seeing vast open areas of space. I still look back at my initial reactions and laugh at my own innocence while appreciating the beauty of it as well.

This memory has taught me an important lesson in life. I have learned that it is one of the most freeing feelings to recognize that your understanding, your vision, your comprehension are limited by your own life experience, by your own assumptions of reality, and to be able to set that aside and move forward into the future, without fear, but rather with trust and excitement to gain new perspectives is truly a gift. Over and over I have faced new experiences, new places, new cultures, new jobs, where I didn't know what to expect, where I couldn't possibly comprehend what was up ahead.

Right now I am facing the same thing. Come June I will be moving to Russia to assist with the expansion of the Junior Youth Spiritual Empowerment Program there. Russia seems like such a foreign word to me, let alone an actual place. And yet, I now marvel at my own reaction to being asked to go. I wasn't afraid at all. I didn't question whether it was the right choice or not, I knew with every ounce of my being that God had looked within my heart, weighed my deepest dream, and handed me the perfect opportunity to fulfill that dream. I think I've learned to look at an open horizon line in the dark and say, "Okay well, perhaps all I see are lights and I don't know what exists between them and me, but I will surely find out and gain a broader understanding of the world in the process."

I can't wait to feel the magic of seeing mountains and snow and lights reflected in water again. Oh how I've missed the beauty and mystery of living in the north.