One person’s sunset is another person’s sunrise.

“There’s always a story. It’s all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything’s got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.”

Terry Pratchett

I have to remind myself that in the grand scheme of the world, I’m a tiny reflection of life’s existence on a planet that hosts over 7 billion people. Seven billion souls with their own stories to tell of success, failure, joy, pain, gain and loss. However, my story is truly unremarkable to anyone else, and like many others rides a razor thin balance capitulating between two perspectives of the same event. When I took the photo below off the port side of a cruise ship departing from Kefalonia, Grecia this month, it triggered in me the title, “One person’s sunset is another person’s sunrise.”

When one is in the thick of life’s best or worst moments, it seems impossible to separate oneself from the importance of YOUR story. But after the last few weeks, I’m starting to understand the impermanence of my story, the impermanence of all things that are good and bad, and life’s constant swing that takes us from one side of the equation to the other. Joy and pain, laughter and tears work hand in hand, and there will always be a fair share of both to make life worth living.

I was reminded of that balance this last week as I encountered a cruise ship full of people from several continents all with their own unique story to tell.

I remember telling people early on in my travels, “I’m not running away from something, I’m running towards something else.” However, in reality, I am running away from something. I’m trying to rebuild something new here in Italia, while creating distance and space from what happened over the previous three years. It’s taken me several months to realize that my personal treadmill of progress is alive and well, but now I am not ashamed to admit it.

I do know this, I’m understanding myself a bit more each day. As Maya Angelou said, “Know better, do better.” That really is all we can do. Each day be a bit wiser and more awake, a bit more accepting and curious of others, and a bit more kind and patient with ourselves.

Recently, Brene Brown reposted a poem from Mary Oliver, Wild Geese on Instagram, click here. I thought it was a priceless reminder to be kind to yourself, regardless of the burdens you are carrying. Life will swing around in your favor again. If you have an extra moment, watch Mary Oliver reading it below:

This poem reminds me that there are much larger laws of nature in place to take care of the big stuff in the world. There is an order to things. What seems like a major disruption to one may be a non-event for someone else. In other words, one person’s sunset is another person’s sunrise. Impermanence is permanent.

When you’re deep in your own “big” stuff, you sometimes need to have your balloon popped to wake you up. And this week, my balloon was popped as I floated around the Adriatico with my sister on a cruise ship. We pin-balled around the islands between Grecia and Italia in the Adriatico appreciating our time together.

We spent seven days with 3,000 or so other people, many of whom we would never fathom to interact with in any other situation. Life stuck us together on a cruise ship for one week to appreciate our differences. We admired each other’s blemishes, applauded our similarities and celebrated the craziness that makes up this place. Over the course of the week, I probably had a few too many martinis and margaritas, perhaps spent a couple of hours more in the casino than I should and added a kilogram or two to my weight.

Early in my professional career, I had a manager whom I admired deeply. She would often say, “You have to have some fun in life and blow out the jet engines every once in a while.” So this week, I blew out the jet engines a bit with my sister. It felt good, and we sure had some stories to tell along the way.

Early on in our cruise, we sat next to a mother and son from upstate New York. They were the living example of “Norman” and “Mother” from the Alfred Hitchcock film, Psycho. They lived together on a horse farm. He called her Mother often and she referred to him as “Son.” She said he was her only perfect child among the three she had. I couldn’t help but see images of Mother propped up in a second-floor window on the Universal Studios backlot tour of the house from Psycho. Norman would be working outside with the horses, while glancing up to Mother’s window seeking her approving nods. They were creepy, but entertaining.

Then we found ourselves often in the company of a recently separated woman. After a 20-year relationship, she thought the best way to rebound was to have multiple boyfriends. One was a meth-addict (who still has all his teeth), and the other a fashion designer working for a famous Italian brand. I mean really, who the hell knows how that story is going to end?

Finally, the last few nights we were serenaded on our balcony by a gentleman who played the ukulele and sang. His inability to play the ukulele was only surpassed by his inability to sing.

When I was trying to find a quiet place to write on the ship, I decided to take an Aperol spritz with me and wander the common areas of the ship. First, I mistakenly stumbled into a “Friends of Bill W.” meeting for recovering substance abusers. That wasn’t the place to imbibe in a spritz. Then there was the “Friends of Oprah Book Club” engaged in a deep conversation about some cultural literary masterpiece. I stumbled around with my laptop and drink, attempting to remain unnoticed, until they offered me a book. I smiled, faked some interest and then left without the book.

Finally, as all things seemed like they couldn’t get more socially ironic, my spritz and I found ourselves in a non-denominational prayer group…for about one minute. Awkward!

These groups seemed terribly out of place for a vessel full of people exercising their unbridled sides while wallowing in unlimited beverage packages and crowded buffets. I guess there’s always a place to find restraint, even when the entire cruise experience is telling you to indulge.

It was such a contradiction of life floating in the eastern Mediterranean, but overall, it was a great place to observe a cross-section of the 7 billion people that share this space with me and connect with their joy and pain, righteousness and wrongness. It was a great place to practice kindness.

We found happy people celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. There were touching stories of passengers that were terminally ill possibly celebrating their last vacation with their loved ones. There were disheartened travelers who saved for years to travel to the islands of Santorini and Mykonos, only to have those ports cancelled the day before the cruise departed due to mechanical problems. 

My sister and I found ourselves just flowing with the itinerary. How could we be upset when this inconvenience is minor in comparison with so many other dramatic stories.

The world is an absolute kaleidoscope of craziness. One person’s normal is another person’s absurd, and one person’s sunset is another person’s sunrise. As much as these individuals felt foreign to me, they all had their own stories to tell. I tried to appreciate them for who they were instead of who I thought they should be.

Therefore, this last week served as a friendly reminder of the impermanence of the current state. Nothing is forever, good or bad. It just is what it is at this moment. That’s all we have to work with now. Things rebalance and water will seek its own level.

In the meantime, be kind to yourself if you’re in the midst of the night. Be good with the fact that one person’s sunset is another person’s sunrise and know that your sunrise is coming around again.

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