"Headlights Look Like Diamonds"

I have never been inspired by the moon before. Certainly I have looked at it a great deal, often favoring the mesmerizing sky over awkward conversations, wild nights, and my own thoughts; yet last week as I sat on the bus bound for Erie, PA (a layover on my way to Pittsburgh) at six thirty in the morning, I felt an insatiable urge to tell people about it. My initial instinct was to write, of course, but at the time I was running on two hours of sleep, and I have never been good at odes. Instead I told Alex about it when I arrived in Pittsburgh. He was unimpressed. I do not blame him, especially as it was in the midst of exhausted bantering on my behalf, but the urgent need I felt to tell people about it remained. I needed to be the medium for portraying the largeness with which the moon hung just over the housetops as it set that morning. People say it is beautiful to watch the sun rise, but I would argue that watching the moon set has it beat.

I only watched for a half hour, perhaps less, through groggy eyes. It slipped in and out of my sight, sometimes falling behind the bus, or else just out of reach as it hid behind structures, both natural and man-made; but for the most part it skied along hills, rooftops, and roads with perfect form. I have never seen the moon, or the sun, take up quite so much room in the sky before. I suppose it was the effect of the atmosphere warping it as it prepared to leave my time zone, yet I couldn’t help but feel as though it wanted me to look at it; it wanted everybody to look at it. A red hue tinted it orange, telling us to harvest whatever odd crops we had in that cold month of January, and somehow it seemed to be telling us something much more.

Or maybe the case was simply that I was on a bus at six thirty in the morning. I always feel strangely inspired, perhaps even strangely important, when I travel in busses, cars, vans...anything that moves because of wheels on the ground. Planes, on the other hand, I have never been quite so find of. My dislike of air travel is not a matter of fear. No, I have many other reasons to dislike the fastest way of travel that civilians can afford. Primarily, they make my head feel funny. I have only flown a few times in my life, but every time, without fail, my head doesn’t feel right for days afterwards. Secondly, however, I dislike airplanes because they are a pain in the ass. Sure, security is a hassle, but that is the least of my complaints when it comes to the difficulties of flying. Did you know that many airlines require a $20 fee for checking even one bag? If you want to check a second, it’s $30 more. I’m no good at packing light, so my goal now is to fit four months worth of clothing and other living necessities in one bag that does not exceed 50lbs (plus a carry on).

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You’ll have to excuse if I have a sudden change in tone. My plan was to finish and post this entry before leaving Buffalo, but as I am myself, that did not turn out the way I had planned. I am currently in the Chicago airport, sitting on the floor next to one of only two outlets I have seen. You’d think there’d be more! In any case, I’m going to try to resume what I was previously saying before telling you of my newest adventures.

I failed at keeping it to one bag under 50 lbs, by the way.

Regardless of what I am feeling now, when I began writing this my intent was to portray my feelings before I take this most tremendous leap. My visit to Pittsburgh, and then back up through the state to Meadville made everything seem final, yet inconclusive, at the same time. I had to say goodbyes, some to people that I may never see again, others to those I knew I would. It is truly strange to only be able to live one moment at a time when there are so many moments behind you and so may moments ahead of you which blind you to where you are now. I realized this as I nuzzled goodbye to Alex; briefly, quickly, as we were parked in a no parking zone. I realized this as I hugged Jenna for the third time, vowing that we would one day be roommates again. All we have are moments, hopes, and memories. Nothing more, nothing less.

As I prepared to leave, I did my best to focus on hopes, because memories, even good ones (especially good ones) made my eyes sting uncomfortably.