Okay, I've figured out that sunrise is a magnificent thing and that I should do everything in my power to make sure that I see more of them. The tide is coming in and the natural rock formations on Hammock Beach, which is on the northeast coast of Florida, are starting to disappear – just like the anxiety I've been feeling the past couple of weeks.

Sunsets are beautiful – especially over water. But sunsets signify the end of the day, and at the end of the day, I don't have anything to celebrate. Sunsets are for people who have people. Sunrises, on the other hand, are for people who have no people. Early morning sandpipers and pelicans in perfect formation scan the shallows for signs of bait fish pools. The tangerine sun begins to creep out of the clouds, lending aurora borealis hues to the sky.

It's 7:23 a.m. now, and all the granddaddies are out, with their precious cargoes perched high atop their shoulders. They walk the shoreline at a leisurely pace, kicking at a shell or two, while the pelicans bring a squeal of delight from the wiggley rider. The childless couples begin to arrive, with their mandatory two dogs (usually golden retrievers or labs, because they might be good with the kids they have someday). The joggers are next, dedicated and silent, with iPods in ears and a single, solitary purpose of doing their two miles before getting ready for work.

The rays of the sun are now getting stronger, which is a nice complement to the chilly Atlantic. The first of the All-American Families have arrived, toting their chairs and umbrellas and coolers across the gritty red sand. Cheerios and fruit drinks come out almost before they've set up their beach fortress, and mom immediately stakes out her chaise lounge, positioned for maximum sun exposure.

The beach itself has taken on a coppery glitter as I squint my eyes into the sun. There is so much energy in the ocean that I find it hard to sit still myself. I walk over to the water and go knee-deep, fighting the urge to jump in, clothes and all. Dragonflies flit dangerously near water's edge and I spy dolphin – a pod of three – surfacing about 15 feet offshore. The Turtle Patrol begins to execute their daily route of the shoreline, marking any possible turtle activity and checking established nests.

The surfers are coming in now, excited by the prospect of larger waves due to storm activity farther out. I decide it's time for me to leave, because I value the beach when it's just the beach, and not a source of outdoor fun for the masses. It's been a great morning, and I intend to have many more of them. Perhaps I'll have the sunrise one morning, and drive the three hours over to the other side of Florida, and have a sunset, too.