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 where agency is slipping away again. The feelings are familiar, but magnified. It’s the same dread, the same sense of being trapped under someone else’s cruelty—only this time, it’s collective.

I worry for those who have never dealt with this kind of person. It will be emotionally and physically painful. There will be no limit to the cruelty. You must accept that—because he has no bottom. You simply cannot imagine how low he will go; it’s not in the normal human psyche to think like that.

Here’s what it will feel like sometimes:

Imagine you’ve just finished a wonderful lunch with friends. You’re walking back to your car, laughing, thinking about how you ought to do this more often—and that you still need to pick up milk. Then, out of nowhere, a stranger walks up and punches you in the nose. You go down hard, stunned, trying to understand what just happened. He stomps you a few more times before walking away.

You’d think that was the hard part. It’s not. The hard part is realizing no one is coming to save you—and that you have to get up anyway, because if you don’t, you won’t survive.

This won’t happen just once. It will happen again and again—day after day, sometimes several times a day. Each time you must rise. Each time you must dig deeper, find the strength to stand again, and push back against those who would strip away our freedom.

Well, I hear the birds starting to sing, the rooster is crowing, and the cows are beginning to moo, so I’ll leave you with this.

Lean on each other. Stay close to like-minded souls. Have hope—and if you can’t have hope, have resolve and rise.