An Ode to the Sun

Bliss and Jet Lag

It is the much anticipated time of the year again during which I teach in-person events. For many years we toured year round, but since the lockdowns there’s a fresh sense of specialness and excitement to each trip.

I love the many well honed rituals of long distance travel, the moment of stepping into an airport and boarding the plane, and most of all the landing.

When the plane sinks through the clouds and the landscape below reveals itself I always experience a giddy rush of happiness. My phone contains hundreds of near identical photos of airplane wings against sunsets, sunrises, dramatic clouds and the approaching ground, all of which were taken to commemorate this very distinct blissful feeling.

Every landing feels poetic - no doubt heightened by the relief of having (almost!) made it and the inevitable weepiness that seems to be the staple of having spent many hours hurtling through the air in a metal tube at 36,000 feet.

The green patchwork of fields that precedes the view of London, the long sandy beaches and estuaries of the Algarve, the dry grasslands and urban sprawl of Melbourne, the orderly barley fields and sunflowers of Munich airport, and the majestic Alps of my hometown, Salzburg. Wherever I land the joyful feeling of adventure bubbles up as we taxi towards the gate.

I love teaching retreats. More than ever I am grateful for every time we gather in person. But, there is just one thing…jetlag!

There have been many afternoons during teaching in Amsterdam when despite coffee (a beverage I only ever use in extreme emergencies ) my eyes would close and any attempt to open them resulted in a woozy cross eyed state of utter desperation. 

Then there was the time - now a humorous part of our teaching folklore -  when Steve and I went to Melbourne for the first time and landed at 6:30am after a 16 hour flight. Staying awake all day proved a herculean feat which resulted in a strange hallucinatory sleep during a wild thunderstorm. 

At some point the wind lifted a corner of the roof of our airbnb - which was really just a glorified shed in someone’s backyard - and rain sprayed into the rooms through the roof. I was so jetlagged that I simply covered my face with the comforter and fell back into delirious sleep. The next morning I wanted to commiserate with Steve, but he never even woke up!

Nowadays my travel is almost completely jet lag free. At some point during the pandemic I learned about deliberate sun exposure as a means of regulating the body’s circadian rhythm and this has been an absolute game changer!

It’s incredibly simple. Getting sunlight as early in the day as possible sets in motion a cascade of processes that help the body with everything from sleep to physical and mental well being. Watching the sun go down has similar beneficial effects.

Turns out, this particular protocol really cuts down on jet lag. While I sometimes roll my eyes at the “optimizer” movement, I’ve gotten quite disciplined with my morning sun exposure because it’s made such a big difference in many aspects of my life. This was not an easy shift as I have never been much of a “morning person”.

Nowadays it’s an essential part of my morning ritual. Regardless if I am home or
traveling, I’ll make a pot of tea, grab my journal and my Oracle cards, and sit facing the rising sun. While I enjoy the morning sun I’ll write and contemplate, drink tea, and pull a few cards.

When we arrive at a retreat location we often sit together to watch the sun rise. We drink tea or coffee, chat and laugh, pull cards, and Steve might recite some poems. This is my favorite part of retreat prep - sitting with good company and enjoying the dawn.

Just as important as the benefits for good sleep and the prevention of jet lag is the poetic beauty of each sunrise and sunset. The same way those airplane landings inspire a sense of awe and bliss, the rising and setting sun fills me with a deep connection to the natural world.

The simple act of sitting long enough to watch the sun come up behind a mountain, or sink into the ocean reminds me of how intricately we are linked with the rhythms of nature. Listening to the birds, seeing clouds moving and water rise and fall with the tides holds a special kind of magic. A moment to feel the bigger picture and allow the heart to relax.

It’s also a potent reminder that we are of nature, a part of a much greater natural world, dependent on the sun and its rhythms. Even more than the intellectual understanding of the benefits of sunlight and the detrimental effects of the light emitted by our various devices, the feeling of awe and the connection with nature have allowed me to cut down substantially on scrolling in bed or being on my computer till it’s time to sleep.

This morning, while admiring a particularly red sunrise over Venus Bay, Australia, I realized that something has happened that I never thought possible… I have become a morning person.