My most shameful opinion

It's time to tell my truth

Hi! I’m Jordan. I write essays about things like creativity, parenting, faith, and crows. Now that I’ve been at this a while, I’m going to start making more paywalled posts for paid subscribers—like this one. I plan to do roughly one free and one paid post per week.

In conjunction with that, for the next two days, I’m going to run a sale for 50% off my current yearly subscription of $80, bringing it to $40—about 77 cents a week. Wow, what a deal! So if you’ve been thinking about subscribing, or you want to see the picture of Julie Andrews as a skeleton that is behind this paywall, now’s the time.

It’s a rainy morning here in Baltimore County. The sky is a uniform overcast white, and the grassy lawns in my neighborhood are that aggressive shade of green you only get when they’re damp. The roads are slick and dark.

Sitting in my “sunroom,” I feel a shiver of delight. The world is my oyster. My nemesis won’t come calling today. It’s hidden behind the clouds, where it can do me no harm.

That’s right: I am anti-Sun. There, I said it!

A gradual awakening

It took me a long time to figure out that I didn’t like the Sun. For most of my life, I would have told you that I loved sunny days, because who doesn’t? You’d have to be some kind of monster to not like the sunshine.

But then I met someone who actually likes the Sun: my wife. She is a Sun Goddess. She likes sunshine in the way some people “like” crack cocaine. I have seen her go from having a terrible day, to being in full contented kitten mode, just from laying out for ten or fifteen minutes.

So naturally, she has spent our entire marriage trying to get me in the sun. Let’s go for a walk! Let’s go on a hike! Let’s go to the beach! Over time, I started to notice my internal resistance to all of these ideas, though I wasn’t sure exactly why. I hypothesized for a while that I simply didn’t like the outdoors. But then, on rainy or overcast days, I found myself in a good mood, eager to be out in the fresh air. My wife called these days “gross,” and strangely, I would find myself a little offended.

Finally, one day, it dawned on me. What I didn’t like was—could it be?—the Sun itself! I kept this to myself, testing the theory over a period of time, gathering more data. Sure enough, being out in the Sun made me vaguely anxious.

Eventually, the day came that I knew I needed to share it with my wife. The following is a dramatization of what occurred from my upcoming stage play, White Boy on a Hot Tin Roof:

Jordan: Honey, we need to talk.

Wife: Of course, sweetheart.

Jordan: [mustering courage] I…I…

Wife: What is it, love? You know you can tell me anything.

Jordan: I…think I don’t like the Sun.

[long silence]

Wife: That is a bad opinion.

Jordan: I’m so sorry! [Breaks down sobbing]

Wife: Um…I don’t think this is gonna work out.

[Curtain]

In the end, we did work it out. But it’s still true that the weather is basically a zero-sum issue for us. And everybody knows that zero-sum situations are key to a thriving marriage. How lucky for us that ours applies to a baseline fact about every single day of the year!

Look, I already know what you’re thinking about this. No one takes my side in this little marital debate. An opinion like mine does not win you friends. It’s like saying you’re just generally irritated by the sound of laughter—children’s laughter, mainly.

But before you judge, please consider my perspective. It’s really not my fault that I think vampires low-key have it right.

Growing up HWHITE

I am a shade of Caucasian known as “translucent.” It is not a shade found often in the natural world. It’s somewhere between “Christmas snowfall” and “the milky eyes of an old dog.” If I were a Pokémon, my special power would be “blind him!” But I would also be one-shotted by UV attacks.

The author’s law school graduation headshot

Moreover, I grew up in Utah. I didn’t learn this until later in life, but the Sun in Utah is meaner and angrier than it is in most places. It is a downright malevolent entity. This is because Utah is mountain country, and at such high elevations, you’re pretty much right up next to that thing.¹

The combination of my complexion and the absolute ray gun in the Utah sky meant that to be outside even for a short time was to risk a bad burn. Imagine if you were Superman, and you lived somewhere where there was a giant ball of kryptonite floating in the sky, everywhere you went. How might you feel about the floating ball of kryptonite? (And what if is was Lois Lane’s very favorite thing?)

The only time that I can rest easy in direct sunlight is if I’m wearing Costco quantities of sunscreen. If there’s one thing worse than the Sun, it’s sunscreen. Quick side diatribe: