There's a streetlamp at the end of my street. It waits there, tall and black and still, for me to turn the corner, to see it there, sentinel, etched against the darkening sky. I don't think I ever really saw it before late March, when I returned from a brief stint in New Orleans, where such street lights line every avenue and alleyway, as they have for 150 years now.
Colorado has mountains; New Orleans has streetlamps. Both are iconic, both are lovely, both trace against the skyline as it purples into dusk. Each day, as the sun sets, now, I stare at the sun as it swivels on its daily arc to rest behind the mountains, and I tear up, just a little, as I realize that I'm one day closer to my last day in the Springs. One day closer to my last day at home, and my first day in my new home. I'm not sure how long I'll be away - at least two years. I don't know if Louisiana will become my home, as Colorado is now, and has been for more than 20 years, but whatever happens, I know I'll miss my mountains, and that my heart will ache for the open sky. At least it's windy there. At least there's that.
***
Tomorrow morning, I'll be a college graduate, and the school part of my life - at least for now - will be over. That chapter is ended, to make way for another.
As chapters go, it's been a very good one. Some things, though, remain unsaid.
When musicians release albums, or authors, books, they are allowed a section of acknowledgements, and a dedication, an ode to those others who facilitated its becoming.
Seeing as how without a select group of people, I would be not where I am now but somewhere else entirely, less rich and without promise, I owe a dedication, for every ounce of loving support and every piece of advise that got me through, for every line of unveiled honesty and driving query, for every moment of peace and safety and steadfastness I ever had.
My success, then, my impending career, my abilities and character and philosophical standing, are owed to these:
To my parents, who were sometimes necessarily stern, but always loving, supporting and peaceful - who taught me everything I know about the human heart and the philosophy inherent in dishwashing - who provided for me all these years a home of joy and harmony in the face of a world that didn't know up from down - who never, once, even suspected that I might fail at anything about which I was sufficiently passionate - I dedicate all my successes, academic, personal, spiritual, intellectual and creative, for without them, none of that would have been possible.
To my brother, who first showed me devotion, and then courage, I dedicate whatever ferocity I harbor, insofar as it is stemmed from love, because he loved me fiercely from the day I was born.
To my friend Jayme Swointek, whom I knew as Jayme Federick, I dedicate my stability, because it was she who taught me to be calm and to think broadly about the calamities that can befall any given moment.
To my friend David Owens, with whom I passed a dozen lifetimes in a span of months, I dedicate my curiosity, for it was his prodigious mind that helped me learn to question, and his brilliant spirit that helped me find peace in the midst of the storm. With him, I watched the world change, and by him, my world was changed.
To my other brother, Slim, otherwise known as Merchant, I dedicate my loyalty, because it was he who showed me that relationships are not spawned out of necessity, but out of willingness and unquestioning faithfulness.
To my sister Heather, I dedicate my steadfastness, for it was her long-suffering heart that taught me about the permanence of faith, and the delight of fellowship.
To my friend Becca Brander, whom I knew as Becca Wolt, I dedicate my logic, because it was all those long nights of debate and discourse that built the foundation of my philosophical standing, with which I face each day.
To my sister Heather, I dedicate my steadfastness, for it was her long-suffering heart that taught me about the permanence of faith, and the delight of fellowship.
To my friend Becca Brander, whom I knew as Becca Wolt, I dedicate my logic, because it was all those long nights of debate and discourse that built the foundation of my philosophical standing, with which I face each day.
To my friend Jessica Lynch, I dedicate my good humor, for all the times she made me laugh until I cried, and all the instances and circumstances made better by her presence.
To my dear Matthew Crandall, I dedicate my potential, because it was he who helped me remember that, while the past might shape us, it does not define us - and it was he who showed me again the extent of my ability, when I had lost my way.
There are, of course, others to whom I owe many thanks, including family, other friends and teachers who helped illuminate my path when it was shrouded and confused. I'm afraid, though, that I wax nostalgic, and you, dear reader, may weary of this tack. To you, who trace with your eyes and minds the makings of my hands, I dedicate my work, past, present and future, because it you who give my words meaning. Without you, they are simply symbols, lines of black upon a page, spent as soon as they are conceived.
With you, they are me. So thank you, friends, dear ones, for reading, and for helping me along the way, each in your own specific ways, when I needed you most. You are blessings, and I look forward to the rest of my life, as it was made possible through you.
A.
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Let's see how far we've come.
