About a month or two before midsummer, when each morning brought the sun earlier and earlier to my bedroom window, I started getting up and going running. As a new resident of the area, I was warned about how early the sun would rise and that black-out shades were a must. The black-out shades went up, but the sun still found ways to slip through the cracks and land squarely on my eyelids. One morning I decided to just get up, put on my running shoes and head out the door. I’m up anyway, I thought; I might as well use the time wisely.
To be fair, this isn’t a new habit I just picked up. I was a rower in college in New England and got up well before the sun most days. Probably because of my time on the Connecticut River, or perhaps in spite of it, I find exercising with the dawn to be immensely satisfying. More often than not, you have the streets, or the river, or even the gym to yourself. The workout seems somehow easier, the body still asleep, the mind not fully awake.
As my feet hit the pavement on my first early morning run in Grand Coulee, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had been living here for months, but that morning everything looked different. The cliffs were sharper, the lake stiller. The soft early sunlight brushed the tops of the trees, somehow making them look taller. It wasn’t exactly quiet. I had a number of dogs that greeted me as I passed their yards, but the town seemed so peaceful as to be almost magical. I think I was surprised because I find this area to be so peaceful anyway. What was really the difference?
A handful of early morning runs went by. Soon, I had a good idea of why I loved seeing our town at this time of day. I believe it comes down to perception. Everything looked different because I saw it in a different situation. I wasn’t driving, I wasn’t on the way to somewhere else; I wasn’t talking to someone or listening to music. It was an entirely different way of experiencing the physical environment in which we live. And because I experience it differently, the perception of that physical environment is totally different. Walking the streets of a busy city at night can have the same effect. It might as well be a different city altogether.
I notice that children have a similar reaction to perception. Moving toys to a different location when they are not around is almost like buying them a brand new toy. In a different spot, it looks totally different and freshly exciting, providing volumes of new exploration.
After my revelation about perception, it made me wonder what else would change if simply viewed at a different time of day or in a different location. Would an angry person in the checkout line look happier if met in the parking lot? Would an argument change dimensions? Would a joke told in one scenario be funnier than if it had been told in another?
How much of what we see and experience is simply the luck of perception? Is it possible that things we either love or hate could have had different outcomes if we’d first experienced them in a different environment? It makes me stop and wonder. After all, what is love or hate besides perception?
Recognizing that it may be just a change in perception that makes me appreciate my early morning runs doesn’t actually lessen the joy one bit. I still love to get outside with the dawn, and as long as the sun is up early, I will be too.
Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. July 27, 2011
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