Last night, I heard cicadas for the first time this summer. I began to think about all the times I’ve actually listened to them in my life. I remember the sound as I laid in the grass when I was a boy, looking up at the moon just outside my tent in the backyard. My dad would let me stay out there, one night only, every summer. I wondered if the moon would ever leave us. I listened to them when I lived in Florida, sitting out at night by the pool, wondering where I was going with my life. I had so many doubts. I heard them when I first returned to Chicago. I was at the zoo, trying to decide if I made the right decision to come back to the place I started. Was starting over really what I needed?
As I listened to them last night, it’s as if the questions in my life were summed up in a single, rhythmic melody. And for the first time, I felt like I had an answer. Everything in the past was just as it should be. The faithful moon remains where it was when I was a boy, and I’m happy with the life I live now.