The Night We Met
There are days when my mind feels like it has a thousand tabs open. Lately, I’ve been carrying so much excitement that it almost feels like anxiety. Ideas keep finding me faster than I can organize them. My heart races with possibility, but Monday mornings still comes, and my 9-to-5 is waiting for me.
Some days I wish I could press pause.
Not because I want to escape my life. Because I want to remember how it feels to breathe… If I close my eyes for just a moment, I can hear Lord Huron’s The Night We Met playing softly in the background.
And suddenly…
I’m back in Alaska.
Not remembering it.
Feeling it.
The rain gently hitting my jacket. The air is so cold and yet clean that every breath feels like the freshest one my lungs have ever taken. Around me are mountains that have stood here long before me and will remain long after I’m gone. A glacial river flowing. There are no emails. No notifications. No deadlines.
Just the sound of water finding its way downhill. I remember standing there, completely surrounded by mountains, unable to move because I was afraid that if I took even one step, I’d somehow interrupt the stillness.
It wasn’t silent.
The water rapids would splash from time to time. The wind moved through my hair blinding my face for the one millionth time. Rain continued to tap against my hood.
But somehow… It was the quietest I’d felt in a long time.
It’s funny how being surrounded by something so unimaginably vast can make your own problems feel so incredibly small. Not because they disappear. But because they finally find their proper place.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in Alaska anymore.
The sound of my neighbor’s lawn crew slowly replaced the river. The mountains disappeared. The cool air on my face gave way to Georgia summer.
But for just a moment… I still felt the crisp air resting on the tip of my nose. I could still hear the water. I don’t know if it was the deep breath or that moment but I could feel my shoulders relax.
And for one beautiful, ordinary moment… I had peace