Honest, hope is a verb, I choose champagne

At last, Sunrise

My favorite track on my favorite instrumental CD (“We were Legends” by Maree Docia) is entitled “At last, Sunrise“.

I listen to it every morning as I walk to work. Sometimes I just repeat that two minute track 5 times. I listen to it as I am walking and writing, at lunch while I’m scrolling through Instagram.
There is just some immense beauty in the chords and the instrumentals. And there is something about the hope of sunrise.

I think part of it too is that I am a cheesy teen drama aficionado (like, as I’m reading this I’m contemplating going home and rewatching Riverdale). BUT in the shows I love like Riverdale and The Vampire Diaries they are so often waiting for the night to end and the sunrise to come.

And when it does, they take a big breath and they walk away from the night into the places the lightening sky touches. When they do, I can just hear the characters saying, “At last (DEAP BREATH COMMA) sunrise.”
I think that a part of the reason I love the cheesy teen supernatural-esque shows it because, I am reminded, eventually sunrise comes. Eventually the sun will come up and shine itself upon all the things that were dark.
What doesn’t happen on those supernatural shows, for the most part, is they never show the clean up the sun brings. On TV all the devastation and gore happens but once the sun comes up the town square is miraculously cleaned off of blood and oh wait the football games tonight- but our quarterback is dead, oh well.
But, in our lives when the sun comes up after a night of turmoil, the relief the sun brings is also matched with the fact the light is shining on the chaos.
Right now, in my life, I feel as if the light is coming and the pinks and the light blues and the purple is filling the sky and as it does I’m starting to see things that happened in the dark.
I think right now, I am choosing to believe that the sunrise is happening in my life. That I am finally developing the space in my life to take a breath and say “At last, sunrise”.

I think that sometimes we have to remember to let the sun come up.

We have to take our black out curtains off of our windows and allow the sun to come up.
And then we have to go feel it on our faces and believe it will stay.

I think we have to choose to face the mess in town square and clean it up and throw a party anyway.
As a people we focus on the negative so often, we focus on the dark and the chaos and we miss the sunrise when it happens. It’s like we put up black out curtains so we can pretend it’s light out when it’s not and then we miss the light.

PEOPLE WE NEED TO STOP MISSING THE LIGHT.

(MEG YOU NEED TO STOP MISSING THE LIGHT).

And when the light comes we need to take a breath and thank it for showing up.
We need to not be afraid of the blood on the pavement (sorry, that’s totally gory, but like shows about vampires are in my brain).
I don’t know where you are in life. I don’t know if you don’t want the light because you don’t want to see what mayhem happened in the dark, I don’t know if your future is so filled with it you got to wear SPF 50.
I don’t know if you’re afraid of it, or don’t believe it’s ever coming again.
I do know though that the sun will rise again. I do know it might shed itself on things you don’t want to think about.
I do know being in the dark changed you and the light might no longer seem safe.
I do know that we need who you are- even the parts that were changed in the dark. And I do know those changes that happened in the dark feel hard to explain. And that the sunrise might not feel welcome in this moment.

And I do know that you can’t tell someone else what their light looks like. You can’t see light for other people. You can remind them to look- but you can’t see it for them.

But I do know the light is coming, it’s turning the sky beautiful colors and we need to take a deep breath and walk forward into it.

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one of my favorite sunrises I’ve ever seen in my life: angkor wat in cambodia

At last, sunrise.

 

 

Honest, washington whimsy

all the pieces.

Tuesday morning when I went on lunch I had a text from a friend who challenges me in immense (good) ways. The text read: inside cover for new journal–all the pieces are beautiful.

I grimaced. 

Here’s the thing: last weekend I attended a conference (that I am about to not really talk about at all) but what I will say is that I had time and space and safety to sit in and push into some things that I’ve never really made time for or wanted to make time for.

And the word that is probably the most scribbled through my journal after the 3 days?
Ugly.

All of it felt so very ugly, it felt gritty and dirty and something I didn’t want to be attached too. It felt off balance and off putting and if I am being honest the thoughts and realizations felt selfish and self entered.

The complete and utter opposite of beautiful.

I am a supreme advocate that every scrape, bruise and wound adds to the story. Something happened in your life and to get to the other side you had to walk through a thing and maybe got a little beat up in the way.

But you got through. 

And even if you are in the middle of something right now, if you try really, really hard you can maybe find even one thing that is the sunny day in the midst of the rain.

I also believe that, that sunny day looks different for everyone. Everyone’s beauty and truth is different. Which, of course is what leads me back to myself grimacing at the statement “all the pieces are beautiful”. 

There is a limit to the things in my life I deem beautiful, and I found said limit this weekend. 

(I wish you could see how many times I have gone out of this document and tried to distract myself from writing these words.)

It’s because of that, my need for distraction from my own words, that I know there is more to the story. If it was finished then it would be easy. When something is finished you see the beginning, the middle and the end. You see every part and you know where every path lead. But man, when you believe you already made it to the end of the path only to realize you are in the middle?

Woof.

I’ve been fighting the truth in my life that doesn’t seem true.

One of my favorite movies of all time is “The American President” and at the very end of the movie when everything has gone awry and his girlfriend left and his popularity is down, the president makes a speech, a beautiful speech. You see through the whole movie he was silent. He said no comment a lot. So the opposition spoke for him. He ends that speech  with a declarative truth:

“My name is Andrew Shepherd and I am the president.”

The opposition speaks so much for us that we don’t even know what’s true even though is it true. Completely and utterly true. We have to speak it.

I am relearning truths right now, because I’ve said no comment for so long. 

So, My name is Meg Reeve and all of it, every piece, is beautiful.