A girl's night out

The other night, a friend and I discussed the bluebird of happiness (see two posts down). The conversation seemed to resolve with a sense of “the bluebird has not come and will not come.” But tonight, in the smallest and most simple ways possible, I remembered the bluebird doesn’t always come to you. Sometimes you must follow its sound – and then, you will suddenly be surrounded by a thousand sights and thoughts you thought were a world away…

Today was one of those days when everyone leaves the office early.

That’s because it was a long day, both in levels of work and emotional strain. What made it worse was being in recess, when you’re supposed to be less stressed, any stress seems ten times worse. And the Hill family factor (what happens to any group of people who spend more time together than they realize and treat each other accordingly) was in full affect. While I was not the direct recipient or giver of much snappiness, there were times the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. By the end of the day all was well between us, to be sure, but for my part, the internal relations coupled with a particularly exhausting time with the letters was enough to have my brain fried by about five. My coworkers slowly filed out, and finally, my LD sent me “home.” Today, I was more than happy to comply.

As I slipped outside Rayburn, a brilliant sight struck my eyes: the shadow of my building was being cast onto the dull white of Longworth by a brilliant pink unseen sunset. It was the first time in a long time I could remember leaving work before it was dark, which is a combination of two factors: one, the winter days have been very short; and two, yes, I work long hours. The sight of the twilight was startling, as was the number of people around. At first I attributed it simply to the fact that I wasn’t usually out this early and most folks got off at a more decent hour, but when I saw they looked at lost as I did, I recalled that all the Republicans are at a conference retreat this weekend. The “when the cat’s away” law was in full affect, but the mice didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Well – maybe they didn’t. I knew what I was doing. I b-lined to the Metro, but instead of taking my usual transfer to catch my bus, I slipped down to the Smithsonian station. As I came up the escalator on the mall side, the cold wind whipped my hair across my face as I looked up at a brilliant sky with the almost-full moon dead center in my view. The only word that came to mind was azul. I finally understood what that color was after all these years.

I turned from the escalator landing to face the Washington Monument and began to walk toward it. The gravely paths of the mall, which seemed uncomfortable at times when one wore sandals in the summer, suited me fine this evening. There were few people about, but they were there; joggers, mostly. D.C. is full of them. The flags were whipping wildly around the Washington Monument, and my ears began to feel the affects of the wind. I pulled my scarf over my head.

As I approached the edge of the Holocaust Museum, I caught a first glimpse of my destination, the brilliant white marble reflected in the waters of the Tidal Basin. It suddenly felt a little warmer, which can probably be attributed to the presence of water. A host of skeletal trees stand vigil around the water, awaiting their own resurrection. As I get closer, I realize many of them are getting closer to that day: tiny florets are beginning to form on dozens of the cherry trees. I hope the snow they’re predicting this weekend doesn’t destroy the brilliance waiting to be manifested here.

I loop around the water and finally take the path leading me away from traffic. I realize at this point it’s been a full five minutes since I’ve seen another human being, and it is a reliving thought. Amazing how you can be in the very heart of one of the busiest cities in the world but miraculously find solitude.

My five minutes was interrupted as I finally reached the grounds of the Jefferson Memorial, but only for a very brief time. A couple had been perusing the grounds (I had been watching them on and off as I walked) but now went on their way on the far side. I ascended the stairs and found my way to my spot. I’d not been to my spot in months, but I found it just as pleasant as ever in spite of the cold. In fact, it was even better, because this was the first time I ever literally had the place to myself. The quiet hum of traffic seemed a thousand miles behind me, barely competition for the sound of the Potomac lapping up on the basin walls. Not a soul in sight. I surveyed Rosslyn, the Lincoln Memorial, the White House, the National Cathedral, the World War II Memorial, the domes of various Smithsonians. I prayed and thought aloud and no one was there to even think I was crazy.

One thing did catch my eye – a group of birds circling over the water in a large group, akin to a school of flying fish. I wondered to myself why they fly so much – even at night when they’ve been doing it all day. What compels them? I’m sure there’s some scientific explanation, but the point at the moment was they were glorifying God in that night sky, when few would even care to look, simply by doing exactly what they were created to do: fly.

I eventually needed to move to keep my blood going, so I went under the dome and read aloud all the Jeffersonian inscriptions. I don’t agree with all of them, but how can these words not resonate in every believers’ ear: “How can these liberties be secure when we have removed the conviction they are a gift of God? Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just, and that His justice will not sleep forever.” Indeed.

A family came in and left. When the marble bench became too much, I decided my time here must end. Even that timing was providential: just as I descended the stairs, another family was coming up and they now had the place to themselves. There seemed to be a good schedule tonight. Random songs flowed through my head and lips as I meandered through the moonlight path back toward civilization.

I eventually found myself back on the mall again, and in spite of the chill in the air, I decided I wanted to walk still. Now I faced Congress, the tall Senate flag signifying the other body was in session this evening. I didn’t spend much time thinking of what they were discussing. Instead, I was overtaken with a delightful thrill when I was looking toward the Archives and saw a telltale collection of white lights – the skating rink.

If I’d had more time, I would’ve rented a pair of skates there and then. But instead, I decided to go see how many more weeks they’d be open, and to watch. It took a while to circumvent the Sculpture Garden and for a moment I thought I would not be able to get in, but finally I discovered the one open gate. I found out they are open till mid-March (joy! I may make it yet). I observed little girls squealing and holding on to each other as they glided; lovers skating glove-in-glove; families trying to have everyone up on both legs at the same time. All smiles. It was a simple loveliness that surpasses any architectural or artistic feat. After my hour away from civilization, I seemed to approach this group with a new appreciation for humanity.

And then I started thinking about how rare it was for me to have three hours all to myself. Oh, sure, when I get home I’ll spend three hours doing my own thing, but getting away alone is a whole other story. The silences and respites of tonight watered the overactive parts of my spirit and soul that are always active, always having to get something done, but just under the surface you know they only wish for rest. A piece of that peace is so rare… and tonight, incredibly welcome and rejuvenating.

My feet only started feeling fatigue when I was about 10 minutes away from my destination, where I knew I would reunite with my roommates and ride home in a nice, clean, warm car instead of an impersonal bus. I encountered many more joggers and observed the houses they were leaving behind. Just the glimpses of Capitol Hill townhouses are amazing… the stained glass back windows, stylish decorating, the brick-red kitchen I want to have someday… but for now I had my own lovely home to go back to. Maybe my Capitol Hill living days will come, but tonight, I was thankful to have seen so much and had so much time to just breathe.

I’m now very close to sleep with a great sense of satisfaction. My muscles have that happy soreness of finally being used and my lungs seem invigorated at having breathed three hours’ worth of outside air. I shall sleep well tonight, with a smile on my face for the One who is teaching me to fly.