This morning I showed up. I got up early and was sitting at the lake watching the sunrise.
This is something I do as often as I can. I live at the lake, and as a practice, I ground myself in the rhythm of the earth, watching the light change, noticing how plants grow, learning the slow and unhurried pacing of a world that moves very differently from the one most of us live in. This is part of how I stay connected to myself.
This morning I got lucky.
There was a canopy of clouds stretched across the sky, and underneath them, a pink glow that only exists in that exact configuration — clouds at just the right height, light at just the right angle, and someone present enough to witness it. One minute the sky was on fire. The next, it was as if it never happened at all.
And sitting there, I thought: the only reason I saw that was because I showed up.
That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
I didn’t do anything extraordinary. I didn’t plan the clouds or arrange the light. I just got up and walked outside and was present at the right moment. And because I was there, I got to see something that most people missed today.
That’s how so much of life works.
The moments that change us, the opportunities that open something new, the connections that shift our direction — they don’t announce themselves in advance. They appear in a window, brief and luminous, and then they’re gone. And the people who catch them aren’t always the most talented or the most prepared. They’re the ones who kept showing up even when there was no guarantee of a pink sky.
Showing up requires something, though. It requires wanting something more than your current circumstances. It requires a willingness to step outside, sometimes literally, and go toward the thing that calls you, even when comfort says stay.
That takes courage. And it takes a kind of vigor that is bigger than you alone.
If that hunger feels distant right now, I’d gently invite curiosity about why. Not judgment. Just honest curiosity. Because going after the life you want isn’t easy. It is full of sacrifice and uncertainty and moments of real disappointment. There will be mornings you show up, and the sky is just gray. Ordinary. Unremarkable.
But you show up anyway. Because you know what’s possible. Because you’ve seen the pink glow before and you know it comes back. Because the alternative, staying inside, staying comfortable, staying safe from disappointment, also keeps you safe from the fire.
And then one morning, at exactly the right moment, everything aligns.
The clouds are there. The light is there. You are there.
And it pays off in a way that makes every ordinary morning worth it.
This is what it means to seize the day — not with force or urgency, but with presence. With the quiet bravery of someone who keeps walking outside, keeps showing up, keeps saying yes to the possibility of something extraordinary hiding inside an ordinary moment.
Be brave. Show up. The sky is always becoming something.
And so are you.
30 Seconds With Beth
Take a slow breath and bring yourself fully into this moment.
Ask yourself: Where in my life have I stopped showing up — not because I don’t care, but because I’m afraid the sky will just be gray?
Then ask: What would it feel like to show up anyway?
You don’t have to see the pink glow every time. You just have to keep walking outside.
Sometimes that’s all courage asks.
About The Author
Beth Inglish is an artist, leader, and transformational speaker who creates spaces where people feel seen, supported, and invited to grow. Through her abstract paintings and keynote experiences, she helps people reconnect to themselves, regulate their nervous systems, and move forward with clarity and confidence. Her work blends creativity, emotional intelligence, and storytelling to create meaningful moments of reflection and change. Whether on stage or in the studio, Beth focuses on helping people feel grounded, aware, and empowered in their lives. Visit her online gallery to explore her work and learn more about the stories behind each piece.
