It occurred to me that I've seen only a handful of sunrises in my life. Once in the Arabian Desert. Once on Myrtle Beach. Once in Zion National Park in southern Utah. Once on Tybee Island. Once at Joshua Tree. Once at Zabriske Point in Death Valley. And today I saw a sunrise on the Gulf of Mexico.
To be clear, by "sunrise" I mean the witness of the sun come over the horizon, not obfuscated by buildings or trees, although it admirable to be outside anywhere at sunrise.
I got to thinking about the difference between the sun coming up and the sun going down, the voices of The Beatles and Elton John echoing in my mind.
I think about the long amber rays of a summer sunset, as it casts shadows and turns grass gold, and makes children dance giddily in circles, anticipating the rise of the fireflies. Fortunate adults will also dance this beautiful dance. I think about driving somewhere at sunset, usually to a social engagement, and the excitement that those golden rays exude. I think about outdoor festivals and concerts and how the mood changes drastically when the sun takes leave. I think about the contemplative sunsets on the beaches I described a few days ago, the mellow hush commanding my sense and sensibilities, making me grateful for every breath I've ever taken, ever blade of grass I've ever touched, every cheek I've ever kissed.
But sunrise has always brought about a different sort of excitement and emotion for me.
Where sunsets are rich and golden, sunrises are fresh and pink. Sunsets are old men full of wisdom, and sunrises are young men full of ideas.
It doesn't matter what I'm doing--running through the streets of my neighborhood, getting an early start at work, camping--the feeling is hopeful but completely different from sundown. At sundown I'm reflective on the day that has past. But at sunrise, there is nothing but vast sky. I feel hopeful of what I'm going to take from the day. Life is just a promise without a history to temper my optimism. The sunset rights my wrongs. The sunrise knows no wrongs.
Perhaps this contrast has to do with population. Sunsets are densely populated. Sunrises are sparsely populated. Near a coast, sunsets are rituals, and people will come out in droves to splendor in her beauty. Nary a soul will get up before the sun merely to greet her. But if you do, you are rewarded with personal face time with the sun. You are her only child. You're a bit spoiled and a lot idealistic.
I've always been a morning person. As a child, I'd get up early to feed our livestock animals, and take note of the stillness of the day, the dew on the grass, the smell of the air, the color of the sky, and I'd bask in a special time when my siblings and parents were still sleeping. Precious solitude.
As a young adult, I was in the Air Force. During our eight month tech training school in Denver, we would often pool our money and get a hotel room on a Friday night, just to get off base and away from the drill instructors, and of course to party, which wasn't allowed in our dorms. I loved the excitement of changing into our civvies, catching the bus downtown to Sixth Street, and checking into a high rise that overlooked the lights of the Mile High City. But I'd always rise early and walk the quiet streets alone before anyone else arose. I'd meet them later at a noisy Village Inn for pancakes and rehashing of the night's stupid events. They'd ask where I'd been that morning, but back then I lacked the eloquence to simply say: Precious Solitude.
As an adult, I'm often the first one at work by design. I love being the one whose motion triggers the lights. The one who makes the coffee--extra strong. Most days I have moments of feeling overwhelmed at work, but when I'm the only one there, I feel calm and confident. First on the scene.
The few times I've actually watched an unobstructed sun rise, I've usually been alone, and I get the same feeling of calm confidence. My day is a canvas, not one mark made yet, my paintbrush poised to make that first indelible mark. It's all mine. I decide the stroke. The colors. The scene.
To be blunt, at sunset I feel grateful that I made it through another day. But at sunrise, I feel power and greed. This day is mine. This life is mine. I can make it whatever I want to make it. This is my time.
And because it so sparsely populated, sunrise is actually more rare than a sunset, more precious. And it's all mine.
I just realized that I prefer sun rises to sunsets.
Call me greedy.
Surely the sun can forgive me this deadly sin.
Precious Solitude.
Sunrise over the Gulf of Mexico from Cape San Blas, Florida.
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