Clarity.

Don't worry, fellow Gleeks. I will have the Christmas glee-cap (thanks Jenn!) posted tomorrow night.

...but tonight, I'm feeling odd. In fact, I've felt unsettled for a little while now. I think it mostly has to do with living back at home, coming to terms with no more college, trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life, and saying goodbye to my brother.

At any rate, I've been thinking about clarity. Understanding and the pristine calm that it brings. Every now and then, I have these eye-opening moments of incredible peace. They always come when I least expect it. It comes when I need it most. It comes despite tears, laughter, anger, or fear. It comes in moments of extreme emotion, but sometimes, it comes in the beauty of the most ordinary, insignificant occurrence.

It comes from nervous, whispered giggles with your brother and sister on Christmas Eve. It comes from sharing your brother's bed and eagerly predicting what Santa will bring. It comes from hearing Santa's sleigh bells outside the window and accidentally falling asleep hours later, after vowing to keep a vigilant watch out the window.

It comes from earth-shattering news from your tortured mom. It comes from running to your room, slamming the door, and listening to your sobs gradually become screams. It comes from sliding down the door and onto the floor because the gut-wrenching sadness has caused your knees to buckle. It comes from a combination of disgust and betrayal, but ultimately, it comes from the painful realization that your parents are human, too.

It comes from the smell of the mud, the sound of the rain, and the heat of the pavement. It comes from six tiny, outstretched hands being filled with shampoo. It comes from spinning in circles, eyes closed and covered in soap suds as your mom washes your hair in the rain.

It comes from a bottom bunk in an overcrowded, college dorm room. It comes from silent tears and lying there with your best friend. It comes from numbly watching the Clay-mation figures of Santa Clause is Coming to Town and pretending your grandfather didn't die hours earlier. It comes from the stinging regret of being states away from his bedside and your grieving grandmother.

It comes from stopping your car in the middle of Jack Road and getting out to admire a breath-taking sunset. It comes from breathing deeply, feeling the breeze, and watching the oranges, yellows, pinks, and reds dance above the swaying golden cornstalks. It comes from being so overwhelmed by the beauty that you start to cry because for the first time in a long time, you feel alive.

It comes from muffled gasps of ecstasy and biting your bottom lip so hard that it draws blood. It comes from the bright light of the church across the street, illuminating your otherwise dark room and casting shadows on him. Shadows that move as he moves, rhythmically yet urgently, focused but nervously. It comes from the coolness of the sheets contrasted with the comforting heat from his body, covering yours completely and showing you love.

It comes from lying in the midnight grass, anxiously awaiting a summer thunderstorm. It comes from a momentary breeze that breaks up the monotony of the stifling mugginess. It comes from the chirping of crickets, the moan of a bullfrog. It comes from watching the stars, the fireflies, and the lightning in the distance, and after a few peaceful minutes, forgetting which is which.

I am overwhelmed by the peace that comes with these moments of clarity. Suddenly, everything makes sense. Everything comes together in one beautiful, unexplainable moment of clarity and I understand. Then, as quickly as it comes, it's gone again and I'm left, incomplete, searching, asking unanswerable questions. I feel the same as before, but somehow different.

I am changed by these moments. I carry them with me - like invisible scars. They alter me fundamentally and remind me of who I was, explain who I am, and show me who I will be. I feel connected with everything and everyone around me and I am better because of it. I am no better than anyone or anything. I briefly see that we are one and the same, experiencing the same emotions and making our own separate ways through the same remarkable fairy tale. I am truly grateful to be alive and in awe of life's simple, yet complex, beauty.

I struggle to recreate these perfect moments, but I never can. Still, I feel content with the knowledge that some things won't make any sense...until they do.