the leaves are changing their colors

Right now autumn has displaced itself from my home city to my new one. The way the walls of this house give into the gusts of wind, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and the somewhat archaic character of my room all serve to remind me of different aspects of home. Aspects that seem to converge and trick me into believing that this won’t be the third year in a row that I’ve skipped out on a beautiful fall season in Colorado. I wouldn’t call it homesickness necessarily, as I’m grateful for every second I spend in this gorgeous part of the world, but it’s times such as these that call to mind the ever-present tension in my mind – one between exploring outside the familiar bounds of everything that’s safe and familiar in order to discover all of the splendor that exists elsewhere in this vast world, and that of basking in the intimate beauty of home which is so nostalgically dear to me. This, indeed, is reminiscent of one of my main anxieties in life, one which has been compounded by my stay in this dazzling city. Every time I dwell on something beautiful, touch something ancient, or traverse any single square inch of Florence, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll ever have that opportunity. This presents in itself a finality which I’m reluctant to accept, and which scares me to no end. Yet I know that unless I’m willing to keep moving forward that I’ll inevitably miss out on so much more. It’s as though the world almost offers too much magnificence for me to ever take in, and yet it is this reality which is wonderful in and of itself. If I could somehow stretch each moment of my life into its own small forever, only then could I compromise my desires to both engross myself in all of the treasures I’ve encountered to date and uncover the new ones.