Every Friday, I wake up at 4am and head to the gym. Thereafter, I eat a light breakfast, pack my backpack, and lock my doors giving it a one-over. I head to work and engage in meeting after meeting. Around 3pm, I look around gather my stuff and head to the airport. Often, once I am at the airport, I have to wait several hours as inevitably my short flight back up to San Francisco, is delayed.
Eventually I get on the plane look out the window as the sun starts to set and feel a great sense of excitement.
The Friday sunset marks my return home to see my baby. Ok. He is not a baby anymore or so he repeatedly reminds. He is seven years old going on twenty. Right now, living between San Francisco and Los Angeles, can be challenging. One of the main challenges being that I don’t get to touch my son’s rosy cheeks everyday. And they are cute cheeks.
As I miss my son’s cheeks more and more, I have become even more appreciative of the sunset -Friday’s that is. When I see that Friday sunset these days, I usually see it from up in the air. That airborne view means I am going to my other home where I get to see my little boy who sometimes manages to stay awake until I arrive.
Watching a sunset is an inspiring part of life. I recall the real red sunset I took in and was mesmerized by was that of the first time I went to Hawaii. Sunsets over a endless ocean just makes one want to watch for hours on end. You want to capture that moment in time and bottle it and place on your mantel.
A sunset signals the end of the day. Usually. For me, these days, it signals the beginning of my gone-too-quickly weekends with my little baby. And yes, he is still my baby and always will be. The fiery sunsets tell me so.