Christmas Lights

Many years ago, long before I met my best friends, I struggled to make ends meet. Over a year had passed since I was forced to leave my job. The condition for retaining it was to falisfy an accounting report. I refused.

Down to my last $500, I counted among my assets my $3.50 copy of Atlas Shrugged. In that remarkable treasure chest was this gem:

...and [Rearden] wondered whether someone could give him now the spark he needed, now when he felt unable ever to rise again. He asked himself who had started him and kept him going. Then he raised his head. Slowly, with the greatest effort of his life, he made his body rise until he was able to sit upright with only one hand pressed to the desk and a trembling arm to support him. He never asked that question again.

Driving home one cold night, still looking for full-time work, I saw Christmas lights on random homes, sparkling in the darkness. They reminded me of Miss Rand's gem, they reminded me to raise myself, to be my own spark.

That is how my casual appreciation of Christmas lights grew into a love for them. I loved how the world around me lifted my spirits simply through its own selfish joy in decorating its property.

I love it still. Merry Christmas!