Sunlight

The men who appreciate the sun the most are the ones who have been in the dark.

Not metaphorically. Literally. The prisoner let out into the yard after weeks in a windowless cell does not need to be told to look up. He looks up because he knows what it cost to look up.

Most men have never been in the dark. So they walk past the sun every day. They have coffee in it. They drive through it. They squint at it on the way to a meeting they do not want to attend. The sun is wallpaper. The body it warms is wallpaper. The day it lights is wallpaper.

This is the failure of the comfortable man. He has not earned his appreciation, so he does not have any.

You do not need to find a dark cell to fix this. You need to remember the ones you have already been in.

The hard winter. The job that broke you. The relationship that nearly took you under. The hospital waiting room. The version of yourself you had to claw out of and would not survive returning to.

You have already been in the dark. Most of it you have already forgotten.

Remember. On purpose. Daily.

The wife who loves you. The body that still moves. The work that is yours. The light coming through the window right now while you read this. All of it stands on a foundation of darker rooms you used to live in.

The man who remembers what it cost to get here will not take here for granted.

Look up.

“The best way out is always through.” — Robert Frost