Overlooking Home

To get to my home in Tulsa, you take 71st west until it ends. Literally. No more 71st.

Actually, at the end, you take a left hand turn, but if you don't, you drive up this winding hill and land up at The Oaks country club.

I used to lifeguard up there.

Coming down the opposite description off a late night-shift, you can, for a few moments, see out all across Tulsa.

The blue lights from the Jones airport, the wee lights from "little Jenks," the brighter ones that line 71st and down past that as well.

Something about that sight--much like the sight of rain and stoplights on pavement--I find soothing.

A galaxy of my own. Accessible.

And I'm separated up there on my hill, in my car, but still connected and descending.

For me, judge as you will, it's a bit of a transcendent experience in its own simple way.

Spent "submission evening" with my friend Amy from Uni. We ate pizza, drank contextual beverages, and watched the office, periodically stopping to talk over Jesus and "right now."

The question of the evening was, "Do you feel like yourself right now?"

Yes. And also no.

I felt the most myself in February am the start of March.

Then the closer I've gotten to the end of my time here, the further along and more concrete my "future" became, I sort of started not feeling quite me.

I hear myself saying things I don't really mean and behaving oddly or out of character or inconsistently. And I think that's normal.

If I weren't being a bit odd, I think that would be indicate of a larger problem. It's good that I'm feeling the anxiety of this new and major transition: out of studenthood and into the workforce, out of one county into the next, the old. Shoot, even out of one state and into another.

It's a lot of change.

As she was pulling out of her housing area, I realized we were atop quite a sizeable hill. And from where we perched, set to descend, I could see the lights of Belfast.

I felt home. I felt, for just a strange wee second, calmed and ready and desirous to return and start over.

I'm nervous, at times very frightened, but this is going to be a good thing. God is good. All the time.