Reporter’s Notebook -- Young Chang
Two days ago I saw the sun just falling behind the prettiest Pacific
Ocean I’ve ever seen.
It was stacked with pink and orange sweeps, as if eye shadowed for the
sky’s eye with the brow bone enhanced a sheer pink and the lower layers
bleeding into roses and finally a tacky orange.
It occurred to me, while beholding this amazing scene and trying to
drive at the same time, that I have my health. Most the people I love
have their health. Even most the people I don’t love have their health.
That’s pretty heavy stuff for one little moment. A moment following
zillions of confused recent moments.
It was a moment of clarity. And it was pretty.
I’ve been looking up lately and I think it’s done me some good. While
smoking, while driving (usually for refuge from the river of brake lights
before me), even while sitting on the couch closest to the window at home
-- I’ve been staring and thinking and getting cheesy.
I’m never like this. I never care about beautiful days or beautiful
sunsets or even starry nights.
Now, suddenly, I care. I think I know why -- a mixture of getting
older, being stressed, missing home -- and I hope my newfound
appreciation for nature doesn’t last too long.
It’s exhausting.
There was this other sky last month -- a sight that made me finally
understand what writer Jeanette Winterson meant by “pre-war sky” in one
of her books.
It was morning and the sky was newly washed and the clouds were
swollen with the previous day’s rain.
It looked, actually, like part of the opening credits for “The
Simpsons.” Life looked like a cartoon at that moment. All caricatured and
jolly and clearly outlined.
I remember telling my good friend about this sky. She said she’d seen
them -- had felt their impact on previous days and understood what I
meant. Most sweetly, she insisted it wasn’t cheesy to notice.
That was nice, sharing a moment with a friend.
As I write this column, there are no clouds outside. It’s the same,
unflawed blue for miles and miles until the furthest mile, where the sky
fades like sandblasteddenim.
My epiphany, on this day, is to stop being confused. To continue
rambling about skies and blues and clouds, and to stop fretting about the
big things in life and whether I’m right about what’s in fact big or
small and whether I’ll be regretful of what I’m doing now when I’m 40.
I’ve been wondering these un-graspable things lately. Been turning
questions in my head the way old Chinese men turn shiny silver worry
balls in their hands.
But I know I’ll never know (the answers to my unproductive questions,
that is). Or maybe I will, once I’m gray and wise.
Till then, guess I’ll turn to the skies.
* Young Chang writes features. She may be reached at (949) 574-4268 or
by e-mail at o7 young.chang@latimes.comf7 .
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