Photo via Fancycrave on Unsplash.com
I should start by saying that I see a lot of sunrises– in a very specific context that has admittedly been telling of my college years. After a night of binge drinking, I sleep so lightly that I always wake up when the light starts breaking through my window (which the blinds fell off of last year , awaiting my repair). I almost always feel nauseous or headachey, but still the sunrise greets me warmly, the beauty and light gently exposing each of my flaws. I affectionately call these moments “accidental sunrises.” So when my friends asked me to do a sunrise hike with them, I felt like it was wrong in some way, like forcing the moment to its crisis. For a while, I said no. My personal sunrises were powerful and unplanned.
But eventually I said yes to my friends and the sunrise hike. So at 2am, after a long car ride down a foggy, windy road and a full meal at iHop, we set out with our headlamps to hike and scramble in the dark. And it felt like fighting a dark, sweaty, dangerous uphill battle. But the thing is, I haven’t fought for something like that in a long time. So when we reached the top and the sky was lightening up, and made our way over some of the scariest boulders, the sunrise once again greeted me. This time, though, it greeted me as an equal. I didn’t see my own flaws, only the beauty and light, because I had honored it by finally treating it like it mattered, finally fighting for it.