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| The quality of life decision we made led to an unexpected end. I fell in love with dusk My whole life I hated the twilight, which is saying something because I’ve had 40 years to turn that around. But it took standing at the end of a dock to make it happen in a moment I had given dusk no expectations. We moved to a small town on the water because I got the job I really wanted. We really didn’t know what kind of place we were coming to. It seemed nice when we visited, but it wasn’t as if we saw skyrockets the first time we came through. If nothing more, it seemed like it would do. That improved somewhat when we drove the moving truck to our new home. It immediately seemed a worthy replacement for where we’d come from. That was nice, because when we had moved there it took a while to grow on us. Once it did, we were hooked and I knew it would be tough to leave. But moving here I had no idea I’d lose a bitterness I had held since I was around eight years old when the street lights went on. It was never anything more than that. The street lights defeated me nightly as I was growing up in suburban Los Angeles. When the skies were still light we played sports in the street, usually in bare feet. I was outdoors, in control of my own life. The sky showed signs of closing when to the west the orange began to expand and brighten. It was the first indication my life each day was ending, turned over to the schedule dictated by my parents and our television. For years I disliked the night too, until the hormones discovered me. Dusk, however, never seemed merciful, even through college and during my first years of work. By then when daylight fell I had to admit how much I had left undone that day, a reminder of my own inadequacy. Dusk was always there to tell me time was running out. Maybe it was something else. Maybe it was because dusk is on the way to something, but isn’t really there yet. Not quite dark, not quite light, dusk is uncommitted, giving into the darkness. Sunrise is the same way, but life is getting lighter. In Utah I watched the sun set over Nevada and still hated dusk. In Southwest Washington the sunset is spectacular on the Columbia River. Still, dusk seemed unfriendly. One day during my new job I had just finished a somewhat major project when I walked out of my office to go look at the seals before it got too dark. The seals don’t really do anything. They lay on a dock far out of my reach, noticeable only when one raises its head at a passing gull. Other than that they don’t balance balls on their noses or bark for fish. But they’re seals, which seems to be reason enough to go watch them. I never got to see seals in Oregon, Utah or California, so I take a three-minute walk once in a while to watch them sleep on the dock. The descending sun had made the clouds fickle about their color. First orange, then red, then some sort of periwinkle they disappeared into a shadowy hillside. The water reflected the clouds’ shift before settling into silver. Standing at the end of an empty boat dock on a small bay on the Puget Sound is where it happened. That’s where dusk finally got through to me. Dusk is about being somewhere even if I’m on my way somewhere else. It’s a great thing to appreciate at this time in my life. I’m 40, far from done working, but I’m no beginner anymore. My kids are 4 and 2 years old, which means we’ve got years before we see them leave. I don’t know if this is the last company I’ll ever work for, but even if it is just a step on the way to somewhere else, it’s a step I can enjoy. There was one other time recently I learned to appreciate being on the way somewhere. I ran with a team of people in the Hood to Coast relay race. It required me to run three different legs, about six miles each. I’m in no shape for 18 miles of running, so the first and second legs were excruciating, so much so that I wondered if I could even do the final leg. But each time the legs ended I realized how temporary they were. While in the midst of the journey, I knew that at some point it would end. So before the third leg began I made a choice that I would enjoy every step I had left. Somehow, I’m convinced it had something to do with my choice, the third leg was painless. Every step was a triumph. More than being on the way somewhere, I was somewhere even while I ran. So standing on the dock in between day and night, I recognized how wonderful it was to not be somewhere I had never been or somewhere I had just been. Day was ending. Night was beginning. Still, I was somewhere – brilliant, electric, dusk. |
| by Steven Gardner -- submitted November 16, 2002 |
| Falling in love with dusk |
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