A new vantage

Today, I painted Emelie's room. As I was edging each of her five windows, moving the step ladder from window to window, I began to wonder what was responsible for the palpable joy building in me. Yes, there was clearly mounting excitement about moving in. There was the lingering sense of accomplishment. But this felt more physical.

As I looked out the window that faces the front of the house, looking across our lawn and upward to a large cloud formation contrasting a brilliant blue sky, I realized from where the joy came. It was from the sky itself. Through the 49 windows in the house, you can see sky and mountains and skylines everywhere. The way our house sits on our wedge-shaped lot, views surround us. Despite the fact that there are houses on all four sides, our home seems to actively clear elbow room, affording unobstructed views everywhere.

That in itself isn't amazing. It's the realization that, for eight years in this condo, we've had no such visual luxury. Out of the few windows in the condo, the only thing we see is other condos. Maybe some trees. A sliver of sky, perhaps. But nothing you would ever dub a vista or panorama.

If this move didn't need another symbolic affirmation, it just got one. It's like you can feel the lithium seeping in with the sunlight, regenerating pores and eyes and spirits that have for too long been deprived of the simple view of endless sky.