Have you ever noticed how I seem to be chasing the sun?
I spend an embarrassing amount of time documenting its rise and fall. I watch as it stretches across the sky. It paints fire into clouds and gold onto rooftops. I know it’s a ball of fire, scientifically. It could one day incinerate the earth. But that’s never how I see it. I don’t think “danger”. I think, “Oooh, it’s so pretty—how close can I get?”
I sit at my back window and marvel like it’s a gallery exhibit made just for me. A living painting that changes by the hour. And the best part? It’s free. No ticket required. Just a gift that came with this old, drafty house the government helps me afford. A blessing I didn’t fully appreciate until maybe two months ago.
I’ve looked past my little home for a long time. I dreamed of the big houses just beyond my neighborhood. I imagined what life would look like through their wider windows. I romanticized what I didn’t have. But lately, I’ve started to love this space. Not just the view, but the quiet street, the kind neighbors, the odd combination of small-town charm and big-city access. It’s perfect for me and my girls, in all the ways that matter.
I now make a point to notice—to be present. Every morning I wake up here. I remind myself how fortunate I am. I have a place where the sun greets me so intimately. Maybe one day we’ll have a bigger space, one that matches the size of our dreams. But until then, this is home. And it is enough.
I’m grateful. For the hard stuff—for every shadow that taught me to recognize the light when it shows up. I’m grateful to be alive. To have learned how to love myself through all of it. I can now look back on past choices without regret, only understanding. I see patterns. I learn lessons. And I move forward.
I’m grateful for the health of my children. For a body that still carries me. For a spirit that tells cancer: You’re not welcome here. For clarity in my thoughts. For faith that isn’t hijacked by fear anymore.
Most of all, I’m thankful to God—for removing fear from my being.
So yes… I chase the sun. And maybe I always will. Every time it rises, I’m reminded of this fact. No matter how long the night has been, light always finds a way back.
This earth is so small compared to the vastness of the universe. When I let myself really feel that, it humbles me. I remember how tiny I am in the scheme of it all. And oddly, it comforts me.
Because in that smallness, I also recognize something sacred: I still get to wake up each morning. I still get to try. I still get to choose a new thought, a better word, a different path. My insignificance in the cosmos doesn’t negate the significance of what I do with my one little life. If anything, it deepens it.
Not everyone has the rights, safety, or freedom I do. Not everyone has the health, the chances, or the second chances I’ve been given. It would be a shame. It would be a true waste if I didn’t do everything in my power to make the most of them.
So yes… I will keep chasing the sun.
Not because I think I can catch it, but because I believe in moving toward the light. And that’s enough.
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