By Dave Wyner, MA, LPC, NCC, CCTP
Clear skies don't make dramatic sunrises
When my son died suddenly and unexpectedly four and half years ago, my entire world crashed down around me. My waking hours were filled with darkness. As if that wasn’t hard enough, I was also struck by one of the cruel realities of grief: the near impossibility of deep, restorative sleep. That, of course, just created more waking hours in which to feel the pain.
Each night, I tossed and turned for hours. When (and if) I finally slept, I routinely woke around 3 a.m. and that was all the sleep I knew I was going to get. More colorless waking hours dominated by a bleak landscape.
Something inside me, though, knew that forcing myself to search for beauty again would be a life-sustaining quest, so I bought myself a camera. I figured it would give me a reason to actively look for beauty in the world and, if I could find it, capture that memory.
What I discovered was that the beauty I sought was looking down at me from above. That’s not a spiritual metaphor; I mean it literally. Remember, I wasn’t having much success with sleep and I was usually up before the sun. With camera in hand, I began taking pre-dawn walks to a small lake down the street to photograph the sunrise. Before long, I branched out to other east-facing sites to capture daybreak. In fact, sunrise became my favorite time of day. In the silence of those early hours, I felt a connection to my son. It was just me, him, and nature’s daily light show.
After some time, I was able to predict whether a particular morning’s show would make for dramatic photos. I noticed that some days start with a wild victory cry splashed across the sky, while others don’t so much break as they unfold; a slow, subtle awakening as night gives way to day. My eye was drawn to the more exuberant displays and the vibrant beauty that sustained my dark soul.
In those early hours, I came to an important realization: clear skies don’t make for brilliant sunrises. It’s the clouds that do that. The sky relies on the clouds to scatter, bend, intensify, and reflect the sun’s light. When that happens, the clouds glow and sparkle and create breathtaking technicolor displays. I learned to welcome the clouds; even to be disappointed when the morning sky was clear and featureless.
That’s when it dawned on me (pun intended). Life works the same way. We all think we want clear skies. We long for them, and we rage against the storm clouds when they inevitably appear above. The painful reality, though, is that it’s those clouds that scatter, bend and intensify our life’s trajectory and highlight our own internal beauty. If we’re brave enough and are surrounded by loving, supportive people, we can allow ourselves to be bent and let the full spectrum of our colors show. Our lives can become more meaningful and more compassionate than they may have been had the storm not arrived.
Don’t get me wrong. In an instant, I would still trade all the drama caused by all the clouds in all the sunrises for more time with my son. I’d break my camera, gouge my eyes out, and pull the blackout curtains if it would bring him back. It won’t. So the only thing left for me is to choose how I respond to the bleaker, more desolate landscape of my new reality. I choose to look for beauty – in the world, in others, and in myself.
What will you chose when the clouds come? Can you find a way to face east and see what colors the sunrise brings?