A Window Without a View

Original post from 2008.

I turned off all the lights in my room, ready to hit the sack, but then I looked out the window and saw the millions of dancing Reno lights, twinkling stubbornly against a heavy sheath of black velvet night. I haven't seen a sky this clear, this dark and enveloping in a long while. It's a striking contrast from that of the smoggy view from atop my fourth floor LA dorm room. It's a more spacious view than the one of a cramped, economically conservative San Jose backyard. But even still, it's not a familiar view, not one that evokes any memories or warm feelings. It's just a view. I think about all the views I've had in the past and wonder if they change or if it's just me that moves along, onto another outlook of some sort. Maybe the contents of our views--the people, places, things that we breathe in change simultaneously. We're either changing right alongside these happenings or we're stagnant, watching the world spin off away from us. I feel like the world is spinning, but I don't know which window ledge to grab onto. There have been so many windows in this short lifetime. Some views I should but don't want to let go of, some I'm hesitant to accept, some I wish to keep forever. The world keeps spinning away from me and no matter which window I look through, I can't seem to find a satisfying view. The thing is, I can't find one because I don't know what it is I'm hoping to see.