Jan. 18, 2024

This time of year, darkness is that annoying guy at a party; hanging around longer than he should, talking way too much, driving away the interesting people.

(Did I just describe myself?)

Seeing the first light of a new day breaking on a chilly January morning, it’s like setting your sight on someone you’ve missed terribly. Deep winter sunrises are a reminder that this too shall pass, and before too long, the sun will bring with it green grass, swollen tree buds, and blooming daffodils, crocuses, and tulips. Even in the darkest thoughts, the piercing dawn sparks an almost imperceptible flicker of hope.

There’s been a shift in my appreciation of the sunrise over the past few months. That big ol’ mass of incandescent gas isn’t just the sun anymore. Driving to work, fine tuning my thoughts around lesson plans, behavior management, and getting my students and me through the day, the sunrise is my copilot. It keeps me company, compelling me to approach the new day with a renewed perspective.

“I’m showing up again for you and everyone else,” it says. “You should do the same.”

Which works out great when my mundane schedule lines up with the sun’s cosmic rounds. Right now, it doesn’t happen. My drive to school is dark, and by the time I’m seeing daylight, it’s just sort of there.

Not the same as a sunrise.

But this song comes close.

From Big Star’s 1972 album, #1 Record, Watch the Sunrise contains the promise of a new day in Alex Chilton’s gravelly voice and sublime lyrics. On hard mornings, the song gives a bit of blessed reassurance. On easy mornings, it offers a kick you won’t find in a cup of coffee.

And on those mornings when the sunrise is riding with me … it doesn’t get much better than that.

It’s okay to look outside

The day it will abide

And watch the sunrise