On Looking in the Rearview

Let the sunset on what’s behind you.

When I was driving home through Center City the other night, I watched the sky go from dark and dreary to a vibrant hue of orange. As I headed towards my neighborhood, the city and the sunset appeared like a painting in my rearview. 

Yet when I looked in front of me, in the direction of where I lived, the sky was still oddly dark and dismal. At every red light, I marveled in the rearview as the sunset became more and more dramatic. I was bummed out to live on the side of the city where we miss the sunsets. 

Every red light exasperated my envy. 

As the negative thoughts were filling my mind, something happened. The sun behind me slowly started to kiss the buildings ahead of me, making them look golden. The way the buildings shimmered against the dark stormy skies literally looked cinematic.

“Okay, maybe my view isn't so bad,” I thought as I looked ahead. 

Then something even cooler happened. Right in front of me, in the clouds above, an orange-hued rainbow appeared out of nowhere. My reaction was audible. 

I swiftly pulled over and sat in awe, taking in every second of the rainbow I could. I paid no mind to the sun setting behind me, because, at this point, it paired no comparison to what was in front of me. Then I laughed a little knowing there was a metaphor in this that I would write about. 

It’s easy to get fixated on what’s in the rearview. Whether that’s wondering what could've been or wanting what someone else has. We may not want to admit it, but it's a natural part of life; marveling at the what-ifs, if only we went in a different direction. It's a hard habit to break.  

It takes a considerable amount of strength to peel our eyes off the past. 

I have a hunch though, a God nudge, if you will. I think we’ll find something if we focus on what's right here in front of us instead. Let the sunset on whatever’s behind you. Then wait and watch.

If you’re looking in the right direction, you might just find a rainbow. 

One that makes you forget all about what's in the rearview.

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A Poem for the Dreamchasers