Three Sunrises

1.
The phone rings, but it’s not a call, it’s an alarm. It’s 5:00 AM and freezing in this tent on a campsite on Crater Lake, Oregon. Why is the phone ringing? What time is it? Did I actually sleep? I hit snooze, blink a few times, and suddenly realize that I have to pack up, clean, and drive up to Watchman Overlook to watch the sunrise. And why didn’t I wear my longjohns to bed! SO COLD!

And after a quick cleaning in the bathroom, (God, I need to shave) and the most organized pack of my life (I stumbled into how to fold my tent, amazing!), I booked it at 25 mph up the mountainside to Wathman’s Overlook.

I kept stopping to catch each angle of the lake as the blazing flames of the sun began to sneak over the mountains. How many pictures can one man take? And then straight bolted from my car off the side of the Rim Road and up a pack of stairs and out onto the rim of the deepest and cleanest lake in the United States. You can see the sun in the sky and reflected in the water. It’s incredible.

2.
Hours later descending from the Willamette Pass Mountain, on the road to Portland, Oregon, they sky was shrouded in fog. Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, whined out of my speakers. Ryan - being my choice for sad depressing morning drives, or extreme hangovers, and heartbreak of all kinds.

The roads were slow, the logging trucks and 12 wheelers were even slower. Ryan was doing his thing, while I pitifully mumbled along. And as I passed through a creek surrounded trees and thick leaves, magically sun began emerging in beams through the fog, bouncing brilliantly against the leaves. Beautiful.

There is something extremely powerful about the way that the sun breaks through the clouds, the fog, and ultimately, the darkness. Internally, I believe that this might have to do with our need, our inner hope for the hardest, darkest, deepest fears and anxieties we have to be overcome by something in the world, some blinding light that will champion for us, harkening back to the creation of Myths, Gods, and today’s Super Heroes. Or maybe it just a cool visual trick.

3.
1993
There was no way I was going to school today; I had had enough of it. The embarrassment of being a teenager and daily humiliation of myself and everyone else had driven me to complete avoidance of people. I had retreated into days of playing with the fireplace, watching the same 10 movies over and over again, and reading comic books, constantly. Oh yeah, and sometimes I went to school.

One morning, my Mom rebelled. The usual pattern was that I would stumble down the stairs and act my way into a sick day. I would be all woozy, dizzy looking, I’d warm my head by the lamplight, stir up a bunch of flem, which was easy, because I had a mild Lactose Intolerance, that I wasn’t even aware off yet.

So, given all that, one day My Mom had had enough of it. I have no idea what her reason was. Perhaps, maybe she’d had enough, was my acting not up to snuff, would I have to force a visit to the doctors? (Thank you Flem! I think I could get the world record for most Sinus Infections.) And then again, she might have been looking out for my best interest.

Whatever the reason, she’d had enough and believed that I could make it to school. So she sat me down at the kitchen table, looked me in the eye, and said “I want you to try something for me.” And I said, “Cough, what?” “ I want you to drink some coffee, and if you drink and still feel like not going to school, then that’s fine.”

This sounded like a fair deal to me. So she poured me a cup. She filled it with Vanilla Coffee Creamer. I sipped it. It tasted like Death. I was mortified. How could anyone drink this, goopy, oily, muck. I could literally see the milk and oil swirl on the top of it. I took another sip and proclaimed, “It’s Killing me!” and then I went back up stairs and pretended to sleep and read comic books.

I was 13. And maybe if I had started drinking coffee before the end of my Senior year of high school, I might not have ended up where I am today, I might have become a lawyer, a doctor, or maybe a politician, but I waited unaware of the energy, the power that was waiting to be unleashed by that small cup of black oil.

But no, it’s September 1, 2009, I’ve been posing as a Writer/Producer/Editor/Whatever in Los Angeles. I’ve lived an awesome life with some truly remarkable memories, but now I don’t know what the hell to do with it, and I’m on a road trip to “Fill in the blank.”

And I’m tired, I’ve been driving for only three hours, and I’d tried to get a latte from McDonalds, but it’s all sugar and milk, and it’s making me gag. So I pull off and search for a Coffee Shop. I’m 70 miles out of Portland, I swear I’m going to find a coffee shop, like a real coffee shop somewhere. Ten Minutes of searching lands me at Safeway’s Starbucks.

I grab an Americano, light on sugar and cream, and get back on the highway. Drinking this black oil, which is really black gold, I suddenly don’t care about all this muck in my life, all these thoughts, fears, and anxieties. Where am I going? Who am I? Fuck it.

They’re all gone, like the fog in the sky, like the dark of the night, burned from my brain, driven away by caffeine. I kick Ryan Adams off the radio and turn on Journey, “Don’ Stop Believin’”. I’m cheesy and I love it! With clear mind, I kick it into top gear, and hit the fast lane. “It’s time to get Busy up in the MOTHA! Portland meet Will Gong.”
Too Bad the Coffee wears off.