This week I again experienced something old, or maybe new?
I have always worked in construction. As a laborer, an apprentice, a journeyman, a contractor and the owner of Hostetler Construction, my work day always started at 7:00, rolling up to the jobsite bright and early, often after an hour commute. All the cities I generally worked in, lie in a big circle from Temecula to Big Bear to Ontario to Redlands. You would think I live in the middle of the circle. But I don’t. I live on the west side of the circle. For some reason, almost all my job sites were located to the east of where I live.
Driving east to my jobsites has probably added a couple years to my life because everyone else is driving west in the morning into the L.A. metropolis. Bumper to bumper heading west, while I fly by going east. And it happens again every afternoon. I would rather commute one hour in easy traffic than face 30 minutes of traffic. I’m okay with driving, but I hate traffic.
Driving east to my jobs means I am driving into the sun which can be a problem. The glare from a dirty window on a road heading right at the sun isn’t pleasant. But there is something else which is pretty cool about heading east in the morning. At the right time of the year, between 6:00 and 7:00, the sun rises. The sun rises to a new day.
I have a vivid memory, back in the day when I was a young man, about driving to a desert race. I remember leaving early with my bike and all the gear needed packed into my truck, driving up the freeway through the Cajon Pass and into the desert night. And gradually the dark of night turned into a glorious sunrise. The pink of the clouds in the crisp air of the desert. The beginning of a glorious day. For some reason, that memory stuck, I can’t tell you how I did that day, I can’t tell you who I was with, I can’t recall where that race was. But I can remember that rising sun. How it made me feel. The darkness of night turning into a new beginning. And I thought of that memory as I was driving to work this week.
I said I experienced something old, or maybe new? For the first time since my stroke, I drove somewhere while the sun was rising. I guess it counts as something new for the new me. A new experience of something that existed from the dawn of time. The first day, and every day after, “let there be light” happened. I needed to experience that again. The beauty of life expressed in the moments we encounter. Those moments I used to take for granted. So, I took a picture, no pink laced clouds, just the parking lot of a gas station. If you’re wondering, it is not going to be framed. But the thought matters. The thought of the darkness of night turning into a new beginning.
If you’re wondering, I am still working on my book, very sporadically, and I’m working on chapter 7 called, “Starting to celebrate life”. What I was writing about was something that happened two years ago when I decided to celebrate the anniversary of my stroke. I realize now, I’m celebrating life in a new way. Not year by year, but day by day, or maybe moment by moment. The chapter starts with this quote from Albert Einstein, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” I guess I’m starting to realize, to me anyways, that everything’s a miracle. The miracle of life, the miracle of a new day.
amen