October 30, 2025
Most days, I’m up before the sun. Not because I’m chasing early-bird productivity or meditating at dawn, but because one of my kids decides that sleep is optional and milk is urgent. So yes, I see the sunrise, but that’s not the same thing as watching it.
Seeing it is accidental. Watching it is intentional.
When you actually watch a sunrise, it’s almost disorienting. The world starts in grayscale and slowly fills with color, like someone’s turning up the saturation on life. It’s quiet but dramatic, nature’s version of a standing ovation for simply showing up again.
But I can’t remember the last time I watched it on purpose. Years, probably. The mornings blur into routines, lunchboxes, emails, a coffee that’s always colder than I meant it to be. Somewhere along the line, I swapped awe for efficiency.
Still, there’s something magical about knowing that the sunrise happens whether or not I’m paying attention. The world doesn’t need me to notice it to keep turning. But maybe I need to notice it to keep feeling human.
So maybe tomorrow, I’ll wake up a few minutes earlier. Not to do more, but to see more. To remember that every single morning, we’re handed proof that darkness is temporary.
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