Rise Before the Sun

Some mornings, the light takes its time. But it always comes — and so must we.

The Gist:

A quiet reflection written between 3 and 5 a.m., about survival, memory, and the strength to rise again when faced with tyranny — both personal and political.

It’s 05:00 and I’m waiting for the sun to rise—something I’ve done most mornings these past few years. With more sunrises behind me than ahead, I try to be present for each one. I make my way to the patio between 03:00 and 05:00. Hot coffee, laptop in hand, a cigar and a filled pipe nearby.

I usually spend that quiet time pondering something and writing. This morning’s question was simple but heavy: How did I end up in this version of my country?

For the first 18 years of my life, I lived under a tyrant. My father was what some call a malignant narcissist. I escaped at 18—at gunpoint. I spent hours talking him down, waiting for the moment the barrel finally lowered. When the sun rose the next morning, out the door I went.

Now, at 68, I find myself watching another tyrant rise—and realizing I’m heading back into a world wher…