A sunrise went to work with me

In early December of 2020 I was working for a remodeling company, renovating a bathroom for a manufacturing company in the middle of rural Opal, VA. Normally when going in to work meant I'd meet the guys at the truck and we'd drive to the site, but this one Friday the other guy was out of town so it was just the boss and me and he said I could pick up the truck in town or just drive straight to the jobsite and we'd work out of his truck. I punched in the address and it turned out to be ten whole minutes faster to drive straight to the jobsite, and with a couple other variables in mind I opted for skipping the truck.

Friday morning came and I enjoyed an extra thirty minutes of rest. My GPS took me along pretty much the route I expected it to for about fifteen minutes. Then, one right turn later, I was at its mercy. I didn't know exactly where I was, on back roads, through rural countryside I hadn't known existed, with the sun beside me, slowly on its way up. I found myself suddenly transfixed in the midst of a breathtaking scene; the sun was up, shining golden over the fields around me, and mist hovered low in the cold of the morning. The scene glowed and I still regret my hurry; my timing was planned down to the minute so there was no time to stop. That morning I wanted nothing more than to take five minutes to stop and take a picture.

It's the kind of scene that deserves to have someone stop and sit in it, just to be there. Everything was so still, and peaceful, from the long grass beneath the fog, to the few trees standing beside the road, to the small gullies weaving through the fields. I don't know if I've seen much that was as beautiful. And then I passed on, the scene ended, and I went to work. The following Sunday I had planned to wake up early enough to be there for the sunrise again, but I chose to stay up late and there was no way I was going to make it.

Something else came of that morning, and before I can tell you about that I need to tell you about this: when I was younger, and all through my childhood, insecurity was a close friend of mine. It didn't really matter what we're talking about, I doubted myself in it. I was fully ready to be second pick, to be simply included yet not necessarily wanted, to be adequate at best. Bad self-talk mixed with a poor perception of my role models and friends built a palace of inadequacy which my mind lived in. So, if I was good at something, I either doubted myself or didn't notice it. When I finally began to see myself differently I started doing more things I enjoyed, and photography was one of them. From the time my family road-tripped to Florida and I was self-designated selfie-stick group-picture king, to some well-aimed compliments on my Instagram feed, I realized I had an eye for photos, and I really liked it too.

That's why I wanted to stop and take a picture, and it's why I borrowed my mom's camera with the intention of getting back out to that field for the sunrise. While that plan may not have worked out after all, I had a camera the Sunday I decided to drive out to the city and take a butt ton of photos, and I remembered how much I liked taking them. I took pictures of boats, and seagulls, and myself (although I didn't have a tripod, and that story almost deserves its own post). It reminded me of my family's trip to New York, all the pictures I took then despite the really hard time I was going through in my personal life. Now, going through my photos looking for a cover for this post, it reminds me of beauty, and that makes me happy. That makes me really happy. Cause things aren't so easy right now, but I'm not so bothered about what was going on during the New York trip. It's kind of the optimist's catchphrase, and the cynic in me remembers all the times we've been wrong, but maybe a year will show everything better. Maybe in a year this won't matter. That's a pretty thought, isn't it?