I’m a sucker for a good sunset. In fact, I often gauge how mindful I’ve been by the number of sunset pictures on my iPhone. But… isn’t there a certain different kind of magic in watching a sunrise?
I mean really lingering with one. Not the hurried glance as you gulp down a crappy cup of coffee on the way out the door, but the kind where you sit still long enough to notice the sky opening— letting the colors unfurl, moment by moment, as the world slips from shadow into light— watching patiently as night surrenders to morning. It feels slow, but in truth, it’s fleeting. It’s one of the few moments when you can almost feel the Earth spinning – and time marching steadily on into the future.
Parenting older children feels like that. It can be depressing. But, from another perspective, witnessing them grow up before your eyes isn’t like watching the sunset of childhood fade away—it’s more like watching the sunrise of adulthood breaking wide open to the promise of a fresh, new day.
At this age, each conversation, each moment shared, adds layers to your relationship, revealing the depth of their character. Your sadness shifts to joy and pride as they take their first steps toward independence, bravely chasing their dreams while also experiencing the inevitable hardships of adulting. This phase isn’t an ending; rather, it serves as a gateway to new adventures, rich discussions about their futures, and the unfolding complexities of their emotions
Your parent-child bond that shifts steadily from the nurturing embrace of childhood to a more nuanced friendship grounded in mutual respect and understanding.
As parents, we find ourselves sitting on the edge of the horizon, cheering from the stands, as our sons and daughters take their first steps into the next chapter of their story. If we pay close enough attention, we can witness the miracle of their childlike wonder sharpen into profound wisdom, their dreams begin to rise into a future that is fully their own. The light stretches, the possibilities widen, and the promise of tomorrow slowly reveals itself to them.
Recently on The Story of Us podcast, I had the joy of sitting down with my daughter Peyton. At 21 years old, her story is really only just in it’s prologue. But, as she spoke about learning self-love, chasing dreams, and wrapping up her final year of college, I found myself mesmerized by her. I also came to realize that I wasn’t witnessing an ending at all—I was watching a dawning.
It struck me that the joy of being her dad at this stage of life feels exactly like watching the sun climb into the sky—glorious, a little overwhelming, but undeniably beautiful.
The Slow Art of Becoming
In our conversation, Peyton spoke about the art of learning to love herself. She talked about the difference between loneliness and solitude, about stepping bravely into the mean streets of New York City, and about manifesting not just a life of fate, but a life of intention. When Peyton described the courage it took to live alone this Summer, she wasn’t just telling a story of independence. She was describing a sunrise: the first rays of confidence breaking through, the glow of self-reliance spreading across the sky.
Her words reminded me that sunrises are not about conclusions, but about new beginnings. As parents, we sometimes long for the days when our children were small—the ice cream dripping down their arm, the skinned knees, the bedtime stories. And yet, the truer beauty is in seeing who they are becoming. Watching a child navigate self-doubt, face new challenges, or discover joy in their own company is like noticing the subtle shift from pink to orange in the early morning sky. Quiet. Profound. Surreal.
The First Pages of Day
For Peyton, joy often lives in the small, unassuming places: the pitter-patter of a dog’s feet, the way the breeze feels at the top of the Eiffel Tower, the strangers who become friends on a subway ride or the sound of her roller skates on hardwood floors. She has reminded me that happiness is not the absence of problems, but the ability to meet them with courage, grace, and presence.
She teaches us that, for young adults like her, growing up is not about rushing toward the noon sun of certainty, but about savoring the first colors of day—those fleeting shades that whisper… this is only the just the beginning.
I heard wisdom beyond her years. She understands that chasing your dreams is less about believing in the divine and more about naming your dreams aloud until even you believe them.
As parents, we don’t get to write our children’s stories. We simply get to witness them unfold—sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes both at once. And if we’re paying attention, we realize that their courage and determination teaches us our own.
Holding the Horizon
The hard truth about sunrises is that they arrive whether we’re ready for them or not. College years begin. Our children strike out on their own. Then, if we’re lucky, they return home for a quick meal before heading back to lives that are increasingly their own. We learn to step back, breathe deep, and marvel as our children’s light gathers and grows.
But just as the memory of a beautiful sunrise lingers long after the day has started, so too does the joy of watching your child grow. The sky changes, but the sunlight remains.
As parents, we are sometimes tempted to cling to the chapters we know well—playing catch in the backyard, holding hands as we walk them to school, the small voices calling from the other room. But the real joy lies in watching the new chapter unfold, in seeing the ink of their becoming spill across the next page.
So tomorrow, if you’re an anxious parent watching your child step into the the great beyond, sit back. Breathe. Gift yourself the permission to watch the sunrise in slow motion. Don’t mourn the night that has passed. Instead, look to the horizon. Relish the miracle of who they are becoming. And remember: the horizon is not the end. It is the promise of a thousand new beginnings.
WANNA HEAR MORE? LISTEN TO OUR PODCAST EPISODE LAUNCHING SATURDAY, AUGUST AUGUST 23RD!
The Story of Us. 
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