The many shades of blue
Pleasantville. The movie.
Where Reese Witherspoon—everyone (some in a burst of fire, others fireworks)—had an awakening that put the colors in the small town inside the TV set. That comes to my mind when I go through new roads. It is as if the pasty-grey scene is unfurling before me, in a slow unravelling of life and color and beauty.
And that’s how I felt when we left beautiful British Columbia for the rugged charm of Alberta’s Rockies.
I knew I only need to stop and touch to realize I am awake.
Because until then (starting from when we moved to our new life about a year and a half ago), life was a long, dark, unlit tunnel.
I exaggerate.
But really. I have forgotten. I had no desire to travel because it seemed too much trouble. We didn’t know where to go and we didn’t want to venture outside the comforts of our new home. It was too new, we were too new. We were just starting out, we had to be prudent with what we spend money for, and we were not entitled to the frivolities of travel.
That’s where I was wrong.
I needed it.
I didn’t know how I lasted so long without it.
For travel gives you a different perspective on life. It tells you that you think too much, you are too small and life is too grand to be measured in small furtive glances outside the window. The roads await and they are filled with small miracles like babbling brooks and vistas as far and as wide as the eyes can see. There are eagles with wingspans wider than you can imagine, and that there is a place—a real place—where dinosaurs once roamed the earth.
And like them you will probably leave an indelible footprint.
And leave you must because that is the cycle of life.
I cannot wait to go again.