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The Charlotte Skyline

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I have this just unreal view of the Charlotte skyline. It’s the very best part about my apartment (second only, perhaps, to its proximity to Dairy Queen) and is the reason I pay a million dollars a month to live in a home the size of my old bedroom.

Pictures don’t do it justice; she looks small and far away on the other side of a lens, but in real life Charlotte is substantial–a towering force right outside my window. When I first moved in I’d wake up in the middle of the night just to look out the window at the eerie black towers rising up from the horizon. A rainbow of exterior lights illuminates the skyline from dusk until some time in the wee hours of the morning when the city goes black and, unlike New York, she sleeps.

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When I sit on the balcony and align my eyes just right, a small two-inch railing erases the entire city. If you’d never been into the apartment and someone sat you down blindfolded, you’d remove the cover off your eyes and say, “What a nice view of the horizon.” Your guide would stand next to you and describe the lights and the jagged edges and the silhouette of a world real enough to touch, and you, from your limited view, would tell her she’s crazy. She’d tell you about the bodies that fill the buildings with their lives and stories and dreams, and you, still seated, would tell her she’s crazy. She’d tell you about her desire to go there and be small in something so big, and you, from where you are, would tell her she’s crazy.

There is less than an inch between you and seeing what she sees, but you sit motionless and tell her she’s crazy.

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I think about this when I’m having a hard time seeing the bigger picture, when I can’t see something from someone else’s perspective. Perspective shifts based on where you stand. Consider then that sometimes when you sit–in what you’ve always believed and who you’ve always been–there is an excellent chance it’s blocking your view of something else.

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There is less than an inch between you and seeing what she sees.

4 Comments

  1. Cee Davies Cee Davies

    It is such a coincidence that I am reading this today. We live in Canada and we drive to Florida twice a year. It takes 2 days. We always stop in Charlotte that first night and I am always captivated by the beautiful skyline of Charlotte… I ALWAYS remark on it to my husband (the last time was a couple of weeks ago) and I have travelled the world so it really is something special. Charlotte seems like such a great place to live. The people are lovely, it has a great little cheap and cheerful Italian restaurant called Villa Francesca that we always eat at after our 14 hour drive, and it is often mentioned in “Hart of Dixie” as the city that they go to to get supplies! Thank you for this post…it was lovely to see the pictures.

  2. KP KP

    There’s something really touching about this post. I’ve shared it with a lot of friends already. There is something about our generation, especially at this time of year, that I think makes us completely lose perspective. The insight that “there’s less than an inch between you and seeing what she she’s but yet you sit motionless and call her crazy” really hit home. I’m not sure I can even put it into words why it elicited a response from me that caused me to immediately forward it to ten people, other than to say that sometimes I find myself being the motionless one and it’s good to have a reminder about what I can be missing out on when I allow myself to be that way. Thanks for a great message.

    • Thanks so much for sharing, Kristen. Reminders of perspective are always welcome in my world.

  3. […] Tout est une question de perspective┬á(quelle belle fa├žon de voir les choses!) […]

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