That Sinking Feeling

I’ve always been a sunrise kind of girl.

One of those annoying people who wakes up every day glad to see that the world’s still here, spinning away.

Every day feels like a fresh start to me, another opportunity to try new things, learn from past mistakes, and make some new ones. Of course you could keep doing the same thing day in and day out, year after year, if that’s your choice. But it seems to me as Ani DiFranco once sang, “You’ve got your whole life to do something, and that’s not very long.” So I’m always trying to make the most of each day, starting with waking up early, and trying to stay productive as long as possible.

But eventually we all run out of gas, and it turns out slowing down is just as hard as speeding up.

My Dad will turn 89 this week. He’s not really thrilled about it, but he’s wrestling with all the questions and emotions that come with facing your own finish line. Nobody likes to think about it, especially not at the beginning of life, or the high noon of life, or even the long restful mid-afternoon of life, after most of the heavy lifting is done and there’s more time for refreshments and reflection.

Lately, as I watch my Dad struggling to cope with the challenges that come with age, I’ve begun to appreciate the sunset view. Sunsets have a totally different dynamic than sunrises. Sunrises start slow and build to a glittering moment of breakthrough, and then the day begins and you sort of forget about them.

Sunsets also can build slowly, but they evolve in more symphonic style. Sometimes the sun simply drops below the horizon without any fanfare at all, just as some lives seem to finish with a similar quiet exhale. Done.

But the sunsets we remember are the ones that start off with a few clouds, then add some bursts of light, some dark drama, a rising wind, a flare of fiery color perhaps, a reflection sparkling on water, a mystical uplift that takes your breath away. In a good way.

All his life my Dad has been a man who could talk. For hours. On almost any subject. A man of strong opinions. He’s always been philosophical in his way, but now, as his sun is sinking lower, he’s gone quiet, but the light still burns in his eyes. He’s still looking for answers.

I get it now. The sunrise is a happy time because you think you’ve got enough time to figure out everything you need to know to understand life. But when the sunset comes, you may find that there’s never enough time to understand it all. The best you can hope for is to get the chance to appreciate it.

And all I can say is thanks, Dad, for all the sunrises, and all the sunsets of my life.