There was a picture I saw of the beach this morning. The sun was coming up and the sky was all orange and purple. I thought to myself about the last time — when was it?
I couldn’t remember. I can’t remember the last time I felt my toes in the sand. It was San Diego, I think.
The morning was all hazy and gray at first. There were a length or rock piles that reached from the shoreline and went out several yards into the Pacific. The waves crashed here, which was perfect to create the sound effects of a shoreline daydream.
I never saw a sunrise like this before.

I never saw anyone sit in a yoga pose to welcome the sun this way either. But lo and behold, each morning, a woman sat on the rock piles, cross-legged, with her hands resting palms up on her knees. Her chin was slightly lifted towards the sky and her eyes were closed. She had long, salt and pepper hair. She wore a black little outfit that was skin-tight, almost like a wetsuit. At the time, I swore nothing spelled Southern California better than her.
We were less than a mile north of Mexico. The air smelled clean and the saltiness from the ocean was sweet on the tongue. I was awake before anyone else. Then again, I always am.
Yes, I suppose this must have been the last time I was on the beach to see the sunrise.

In fairness, I have never seen too many places. I can say what I’ve seen is beautiful. I can say that I have seen the sun come up over the Hollywood hills.
I’ve seen the sunrise over my city in New York. I have watched the sun come up after a long night out with the boys while driving home after breaking the dawn. I remember one morning in particular. I was speeding fast to make my way to a place called Point Lookout.
I was still dressed from the night before but for one reason or another, I just had to go to the beach and watch the sun come up.
Maybe I was trying to prove something or defy something.
Who knows?

There was an overnight fishing trip out at sea. I watched the first light appear and viewed the sunrise from a boat about 110 nautical miles, southeast from the docks. The horizon was a band of orange. Everyone else on the boat was a sleep. We didn’t catch much during the overnight but once the light came, we set up for a troll. We dragged in a bunch of yellowfin in what had to be record timing.

Have you ever tasted fresh yellowfin tuna from the boat? I have to say it was the best I ever had. This was the best fishing trip I ever had too. We pulled up more tuna than we had room for on the boat.

There was a particular shark trip I took out of Freeport. This was my first offshore trip.
We left the dock before sunrise but by the time we moved through Jones Inlet, the sun had shown up to say “Good morning.”
This was beautiful. It was enough to fill me with emotion. My eyes teared a little because this was a view I had never seen before.

Safe to say there are many things I have never seen. Safe to say there are things I will never see. Then again, it is also safe to say that I have seen things that will never be seen by anyone else. Just me . . .
No one will ever know the view from behind my eyes. No one will ever see from my perspective, nor will I ever see from theirs, which is fine. 

I have earned whatever I see. Good or bad, brief, or one time only; I have watched the sun come up from different places. As a matter of fact, I have been down here on Project Earth for 17,401 days.
That’s a lot of daybreaks if you think about it.
I don’t know how many more I’ll have and I don’t know what else I’ll see but whatever it is, I want to make each one better than the last. 

I’ve taken in some hard times over the years. I’m going through uncertain times right now, which can be painful to say the least.
I’ve lost. I’ve hurt. I’ve fallen and I’ve been beaten but at least I’m still here. I’ve made it through 17,401 days.
I’ve been able to keep up with a lifestyle change for more than half of them. I’ve kept a promise to myself for 10,634 days (or 1,519 weeks and a day if you want to break it down.)

It is amazing what the body and mind can endure. It is amazing what we can live through. This is why I say I’ve earned every sunrise. I’ve earned every sunset. I’ve earned everything I have, good or bad. This is me, ready or not, here I come.
I’m not sure what day 17,402 will look like, or 17,403, or 4. All I know is I saw something pretty this morning. And for now, that’ll have to do.

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