I stood staring out the window, three stories up, in complete awe of what I saw. Deep orange, soft pink, and royal purple all coated the clouds with their wondrous beauty. The colors I could see were all incredible, but I knew there were more.

From my original position, I couldn't quite see the sun itself setting. The four-story building next to me prohibited my eyes from watching the ball of sunlight sink into the horizon just beyond my view.

As I remained standing there with my vision limited, I was disappointed that the place I was in was preventing me from seeing what I knew was out there. I wanted to be somewhere that I could see the sunset in its full glory, not just small samples of its immense beauty.

I started to realize I needed to get up. I had to get above the building that was blocking my view.

So, I did.

I took haste and made my way to the staircase, worried that lackadaisical steps would allow the sun enough time to disappear beneath the horizon. I reached the fourth floor and knew that my journey was proving to be worth it. I'd only improved my perspective by a single flight of stairs and I could already see another glorious array of colors.

With this revelation, I knew I couldn't stop there.

I climbed up to the fifth, sixth, and, finally, the seventh floor. I reached the highest point the stairs would allow me to go, and froze. Without even realizing, from my lips whispered, "Wow."

As I took in everything I saw, I was completely floored. The intense vibrancy of the colors, the sheer size of the sun, and scattering of the clouds immobilized me. I couldn't believe that all of this sat a mere four floors above where I had started.

While I took in all that the seventh floor had to offer, I began to wonder how often I settle for views from the three instead of living for views from the seven.

How often do I get frustrated by the buildings blocking my view but do nothing to rise above them? How often do I catch small glimpses of beauty and mistake them for the full picture? How often do I sit comfortably in mediocrity instead of finding the stairs that'll lead me toward something greater?

More often than not, I realized, I live my life on the third floor. I allow my pain, guilt, disappointment, and stubbornness to hide all the goodness in my life. I remain staring out the window wishing I had a better view, but never doing anything to improve it; never taking the steps to reach a higher place where none of those things matter. I realized there's a difference between wanting to get up, and actually getting up.

Then in those moments, as I sit with masked vision, I begin to believe that the little bit of beauty that I can see is enough. I begin to convince myself that what I can see from where I stand is all that's really out there. That there's nothing else worth getting up for because all I could possibly see is right in front of me. The tiny bits of glory become enough, even though the pain, guilt, and disappointment are all still sitting right in front of me.

And once I'm convinced I've seen it all, I get comfortable there. I settle for the little bit of light amidst a whole lot of darkness because I've allowed myself to believe the lies that tell me there's nothing more to look for. I sit idly in mediocrity because it's easy. It doesn't require movement or effort, I can just be.

So, why go looking for the stairs if they won't take me anywhere? And why get up when I'm so comfortable sitting down?

Honestly, why?

Because there is more. And not just a little more, but so much more.

Because I've seen the sunset before and I know its full glory. Because even if my mind can convince itself that there's nothing else, it can't convince my heart that it's never felt the splendor of something more. Because a walk up the stairs, no matter how difficult, is worth the view at the top. Because there's life above my comfort zone, and comfortable living cannot compare to life more abundantly. Because I can rise up, so I will.