I have lived my entire life in the greatest town in the world (Cumberland, Maryland), nestled in the heart of the Appalachian (App-a-lach-en) Mountains. After a few years, the natural beauty surrounding my home became an afterthought — except for the sunrise. The pink skies of a Cumberland sunrise were never taken for granted. Watching the sun crest over the oldest mountain range in North America yielded a new day and a mental reset. Sometimes, I slipped outside to take pictures. Other times, I admired it through my car window as I crossed those mountains, the same way many others did on their travels to the west.
While I miss the Cumberland sunrise, I have encountered its distant, midwestern cousin: the Notre Dame sunrise. Everyday, I step outside early in the morning for a walk or a run to see the same pink sky crest over South Quad next to my new home in Alumni Hall. I’ve taken a few pictures of those too. Notre Dame can isolate you from the rest of the world — the campus, in all its beauty, is insular. This hive of activity feels separate from the outside world. Everyone is going all the time. People walk quickly. They color code their google calendars. Days are planned from sunrise past sunset. It the opposite of the small town pace of life to which I am accustomed.
Still, there is always a sunrise. It is the same sunrise that my family eight hours away is witnessing — a sunrise I observe as I stroll around the lakes and past the Old College, over to North Quad and back to Alumni Hall. No one moves during sunrise. Campus is quiet because the bustle hasn’t begun. I can stop to experience the new environment in which I find myself. I can create new ideas, observe the rain as it falls or look closely at the architecture illuminated by the first glimmer of a new day. I keep my phone off during this time. No notifications. No noise. Utter silence. Just light.
The light connects me to other aspects of my life. It is when I am closest to God. Some may assume I hear the undefinable voice of God but words are not a part of His vocabulary. I am spoken to through the breeze. Through the morning rain that collects on my shoes or the sleeves of my shirt. Through the sun and its warmth. Through the other people going about their day at unfathomably early hours.
It forces you to stop and spend time with your thoughts — good and otherwise. I’ve experienced both over the course of my short time here but they don’t matter when the sun rises. In the face of first light and utter beauty, you leave them behind. Instead of living as brains in jars, we live through the world. As a chronic overthinker and anxious person, it is exactly what I need, and I have a feeling I’m not the only one.
Since many of you reading this are not experiencing the Notre Dame sunrise for the first time, it might be time for another look. Get up early and go outside. I don’t take responsibility for one’s grogginess, but I can say that experiencing perfect fall weather at 7:45 a.m. provides a different kind of energy. Walk around your quad, the lakes and all the spots that I have yet to discover on my expeditions. It might change your perspective or, at the very least, give you a break from the noise.
Perhaps my wonder at this place will one day fade. I will return to forgetting its beauty as I did in my hometown. That day has not yet arrived, and I remain enthralled by the new world I witness.
Duncan Stangel is a first-year global affairs major at Notre Dame. Currently residing in Alumni Hall (the center of the universe), he hails from the small town of Cumberland, MD. When he's not saving kittens from trees, you can find him stumbling to Debart with a caffeine source in hand. Contact at dstangel@nd.edu.
