I keep this picture large because it is so important to the message of this blog. I took this photo at work. It was not an intentional visit to the water, or even to the sunrise. I was in this position for a totally different reason with my professional camera and came upon one of the most beautiful sunrises I have ever seen. I asked the person who I was with if it would be okay if I stationed my camera to take a few photos of what I was seeing, and he obliged, obviously seeing the same thing. It was more than the water looking like a welcoming walk into something so beautiful, it seemed completely unattainable. It was more than the clouds seeming to stay stationary for a moment, allowing me to capture the sun hiding behind them but showing just enough of itself to matter. It was more than the shadows appearing across the middle of that beautiful Great Lake, and creating a rim around those visions that I made into various shapes and sizes as a kid.
It was a reminder that this is life. That the sun rises. And if we just take a moment to stop what we are doing, we can see it and remember that as that sun rises, we rise too. We can be just as beautiful. Just as unknowingly giving to the universe. And just as grateful as every living and growing thing is to see it when it arrives, on time, every single day.
That is what this pandemic has taught me. There is so much pain associated with what has happened in the last almost two years. My husband and I lost our beloved pooch, Cooper, right before Thanksgiving. As a matter fact, today marks exactly a year that he passed away. We’ve lost so many friends, some to this dreadful condition. Relationships have been challenged all around. Live music was gone, people lost jobs, including my husband and I for a period of time. I didn’t get to see my parents as much as I would have liked. I missed my son graduating from high school. I missed seeing him off to his first year of college. There were many health challenges that were, and at times, continue to be scary.
But I have to tell you - even through all of that turmoil, I come out on this day today feeling SO incredibly grateful. I found the best job I’ve ever had in my life, and for those who know me, this is a very big deal. I’m currently in school to obtain my Associates Degree in Business, and while it’s got its own set of challenges, I am really loving it. My son is in college and doing very well and is being a dude like dudes “be”. My husband began painting during the Pandemic and I began crocheting. On any given day, we talked a whole lot. We laughed a lot. We hugged and took walks together. We rode our bikes together and we appreciated the time. Yes, we wanted to work, but we weren’t. We accepted the reality of what was happening and we did with that reality what we had control to do; appreciate it and be grateful for it.
I was heavy into advocating for what happened with George Floyd in Minnesota and I became only an advocate for victims of violence at the hands of law enforcement after having been an outspoken supporter of law enforcement for years, until I heard about Chad Dermyer, who is the brother of a co-worker where I work. My eyes were opened to understanding the universal issues that this world has with putting every single person who is associated with a category of people into the only category that describes them as horrible. This situation forced me to open my eyes about what I had been doing and saying and the responsibility associated with those words that I shared with so many. THAT incident made me stop and think and I’m so grateful I did. I’m in the process of charting the music to a song that I wrote in his honor. If not for this pandemic, I would not have been compelled to do that.
My friendships that were strong before the pandemic are even stronger. My relationship with my step sons and my son is one of total friendship and love. They know…ALL of them know…they can reach out to me at any time for any reason, and I will be there for them. I finished writing a chapter of a book that one of my mentors asked me to write. What a cathartic, amazing experience that was. I had been meaning to write a letter to myself for years, and was given the opportunity to do so at the end of my chapter. I wrote it all in one big chunk of time when it hit me what I wanted to say. I let go of a lot of pain - meaning, things that were causing me pain. I let go of the things I had control over letting go of (me repeating that to say what I just said is a measure I take in rephrasing and understanding exactly what it is that happens when we allow ourselves to fully understand how much control we have over redefining situations that seem impossible to fix). I love so much more. I take in so much more. I listen and I can hear so much more effectively than before the pandemic. I appreciate little things way more than I did before. I mean, I was never a stuff person, I don’t like jewelry really of any kind, I am not a big “look at my car” kind of person, so people who know me know how much I love the simple. But NOW…when I see even a ladybug trying to make it from one sidewalk crack to the next, I cheer for the ladybug in happiness when they make it.
I remember when I sang in the band Streetlife, and I had a gig at a park. The drummer, Ryan and I were having a conversation about moments. He lost his mother to Cancer when he was very young, and it was obvious that this moment impacted his life in such a profound, painful way. At that point, the band lost its bass player, LA, to mesothelioma. Two days after LAs passing, my brother passed from Colon Cancer. We talked about moments, and how we don’t spend enough time appreciating the MOMENT. We talked about how every part of life is just inundated with them, and we worry, and argue, and suffer in silence sometimes so much, that those moments get lost in the weeds and jungle of everything we feel we can’t deal with. Right after having that conversation, a gentleman came up to the both of us telling us how the music we played changed his life. Ryan and I just stood there staring at this man, listening intently to his words until he was finished, and then we both gave him a massive hug. The gentleman left, and Ryan looked at me with his eyes welling with tears, and he said “That, my friend, was a moment.”
This picture…was a moment. It was a moment of truly understanding what I have chosen to do with the time that this pandemic has given me. It was an understanding of how amazingly blessed I am to be surrounded by such good people, including the one person who I am sure had a ton of work to do, who stood back while I recorded this beautiful, unaltered scene. As I stated in the beginning; it is way more than a sunrise.
It’s proof that we’re all still here. And if we allow it, we can give so much more beauty to this world if we just allow ourselves to create and be a part of the moments that come to us every day we live.
Let’s choose today to create that moment In our lives, and the lives of others we know and don’t know. And remember….
No matter what you choose, that sun is going to rise tomorrow. You may as well make the decision to do the same.
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