Chasing Sunrise

I chase sunrise every morning.

My alarm is set for 6:00 a.m., but I usually get up at 5:30 because my brain just works that way. I get dressed in my walking clothes. Right now, where I live, it's cold enough to take your breath away, so I've been wearing these ridiculous Lycra pants that make me look like an ice skater. I wear one of those shirts that bicyclists wear. So basically, I am a walking ice-skating/cyclist--at least fashion-wise. I grab my iPod, which has a playlist for my walk, and grab Cosmo (not a cosmo, but my dog, Cosmo) and hit the road.

When we leave the house, it's so dark you can't make anything out. No streetlights around here. I can see my breath, of course, and off Cosmo and I go to chase sunrise. You see, I want to see sunrise in ONE spot on my walk. It's a completely unobstructed view, and lately sunrise has been pink and fuscia, and it rises on this vista to my left, and we usually hit it just so.

Not today.

You see, Demon Baby has a hidden stash. I am pretty sure it contains one bottle of red nail polish, a water color set, one paint brush, his sister's car keys, an old cellphone, assorted money (though maybe Oldest Daughter took it--she's been known to consider dollar bills lying around fair game) . . . and the thing I use to wear my iPod on my arm. So pre-dawn, I was searching, gave up, and put my iPod in my pocket. When we find Demon's stash, it'll feel like I found pirate treasure. But nonetheless, I left my house about five minutes later than I usually do.

So we missed sunrise in our "spot." I tried not to. We ran up the first hill at full speed to gain time. But we missed it. I don't know if Cosmo was disappointed or anything. He's usually just pretty content to try to pee on every tree we pass. But my heart dipped a little. We saw sunrise at a different spot, and it wasn't as good. Too many trees block the view.

(Bear with me, I do have a writing point . . . .). So it was on the way home. We hit this different spot, and I look to my left, and I see a pink-purple sky, still with stars in it, and stark trees, leaves long dropped, and it was, without a doubt, as pretty as my and Cosmo's usual sunrise. It was already light, had been for twenty minutes now, so this was just early morning beauty. And at precisely that moment, my favorite song came on my iPod.

It's the Cure. Pictures of You. And the lyrics started.

i've been looking so long at these pictures of you
that i almost believe that they're real
i've been living so long with my pictures of you
that i almost believe that the pictures are all i can feel

And then I remembered. My grandfather visited me last night. THAT was one reason I woke so early. He's been dead for 28 years, but I still have moments where the grief knocks the breath out of me as harshly as the cold wind when I first step out of the door in the dark. But every once in a while, and I'm talking maybe every other year, I have a dream about him so vivid, I feel as if he's really come to me in my sleep. And it reminded me of the song.

And then (here's the writing thing) . . . I was just so glad to be alive. I mean, smiling, tears in my eyes glad. It was just this extraordinary inner moment. Because I realized that for whatever reason, when the gods handed out gifts, I got writing.

I didn't get singing.

Nor cooking. (My poor children!)

I didn't get the ability to play a musical instrument with any particular talent (Oldest Daughter got that).

Athletic aptitude is about none.

I don't play chess well. (Oldest Son got that.)

Can't draw worth a damn. (Baby Girl got that one.)

Don't have a talent for mayhem. (Demon Baby was given that one in abundance.)

But I got writing. And I got this way I see the world. In pictures. And then I feel them. And then I write them. And it's a movie in my head all the time so it's almost real. And that is as good as chasing sunrise each day.

A friend I respect a lot sent me something yesterday about how getting published won't change your life. How chasing that dream, once attained . . . well, it won't get you laid and it won't make you rich. And I agree. For me, it's the inner journey I treasure.

How about you?