In photography, the golden hour occurs just after dawn or just before sunset. It is the time of day when colors are the most vivid, shadows the most intense, and a rosy glow dominates the light. Many of my favorite images have been created during the moments just preceding or following the sunset.
About two weeks ago my husband and I found ourselves in a booth at a Denny's Restaurant. It is 2:30 am. We clearly are not the demographic that haunts Denny's Restaurants at this hour. My husband glances at the menu, "Hmmm, in about four months we can order the seniors selection," he observes. Suddenly I experience the same clarity of light that I have during the golden hour: Lordy, lordy, we're way past forty. It's time to live in the present moment . . . not the future or the past but now.
The new year arrived a week or so ago. I think to myself, wouldn't it be great to stretch my skills a bit, develop some discipline, get up early each morning, and capture the rosy fingers of dawn (to quote Ulysses)? As you might guess, in less than eight hours into the new year, I had (of course) broken my singular new year's resolution.
Yesterday the present future was revealed to me. I was asked if I wanted to join a group that will climb Mount Hood next June. "Of course," I think, "This is has been a childhood dream! How can I turn this down?" (OK, true confessions, I also want to ride my bicycle across the United States and somehow haven't carved out the time for that expedition yet.)
Then the "buts" surface:
But I am almost old enough to order from the Seniors menu!
But I have never done this before!
But I weigh too much!
But I don't want to let the others down!
Of this list, the last one is the most problematic for me. I can get shaped up and checked out; I can read everything I can about Mount Hood and study the route; I can walk regularly to the top of Tower Mountain; and I can practice mountaineering skills with other members of the team. But how do I overcome a fear of failure . . . and one that affects all of us? For it is an all or none proposition. Either we all make it to the top or we all return home with a learning experience behind us.
And this is where the real magic of the golden hour becomes apparent. When the light is long and low, the shadows begin to define our experiences. As golden mornings turn into brilliant days, those shadows shorten. At the end of the day we witness golden evenings being consumed by shadows. But we know that the rosy fingers of dawn are only a few hours away. Guaranteed. So, the opportunity to do something new (and sort of scary) is always in front of us. The question is whether we can discern that moment.
Today, being the first-day-of-the-rest-of-my-life-in-spite-of-still-having-not-accomplished-my-new-years-resolution, I have set my eyes on the prize and have started on the long trail to the summit of Mount Hood. We hiked up Tower Mountain through the snow and muck to "The Grinder," the last vertical 500 feet to the top, our goal for the day. On the way we met a man who was also training for a summit. His goal: Mount Shasta in May. We chatted for awhile and he shared his wisdom. This is a good omen. Plus, he looked like he was older than me, too. Seniors Menu, take one step backwards!
Yesterday the present future was revealed to me. I was asked if I wanted to join a group that will climb Mount Hood next June. "Of course," I think, "This is has been a childhood dream! How can I turn this down?" (OK, true confessions, I also want to ride my bicycle across the United States and somehow haven't carved out the time for that expedition yet.)
Then the "buts" surface:
But I am almost old enough to order from the Seniors menu!
But I have never done this before!
But I weigh too much!
But I don't want to let the others down!
Of this list, the last one is the most problematic for me. I can get shaped up and checked out; I can read everything I can about Mount Hood and study the route; I can walk regularly to the top of Tower Mountain; and I can practice mountaineering skills with other members of the team. But how do I overcome a fear of failure . . . and one that affects all of us? For it is an all or none proposition. Either we all make it to the top or we all return home with a learning experience behind us.
And this is where the real magic of the golden hour becomes apparent. When the light is long and low, the shadows begin to define our experiences. As golden mornings turn into brilliant days, those shadows shorten. At the end of the day we witness golden evenings being consumed by shadows. But we know that the rosy fingers of dawn are only a few hours away. Guaranteed. So, the opportunity to do something new (and sort of scary) is always in front of us. The question is whether we can discern that moment.
Today, being the first-day-of-the-rest-of-my-life-in-spite-of-still-having-not-accomplished-my-new-years-resolution, I have set my eyes on the prize and have started on the long trail to the summit of Mount Hood. We hiked up Tower Mountain through the snow and muck to "The Grinder," the last vertical 500 feet to the top, our goal for the day. On the way we met a man who was also training for a summit. His goal: Mount Shasta in May. We chatted for awhile and he shared his wisdom. This is a good omen. Plus, he looked like he was older than me, too. Seniors Menu, take one step backwards!
