The Sunset Symbol in How Far You Have Come by Morgan Harper Nichols
What the Sunset Is and Where It Appears
The sunset in How Far You Have Come is both a literal natural phenomenon and a recurring emotional landmark. Across the memoir's road-trip structure, sunsets mark the end of travel days, the close of childhood scenes, and the threshold between one phase of life and the next. The most fully developed sunset appears in the Arizona chapter, where the narrator—a child with dyslexia traveling from Georgia to California—watches the sun descend over the Grand Canyon. But the motif recurs in Georgia (the late-afternoon departure and the Olympic torch's fire), New Mexico (the sky colors she carries into her art), Texas (the sunset that convinces her and Patrick to move to Dallas), and California (the golden sun at the shore where she sketches).
The Grand Canyon: Sunset as Wordless Language
The Arizona chapter contains the book's most sustained sunset scene. The family arrives at the Grand Canyon as the sun slides closer to the earth and the ponderosa pines cast long shadows. The narrator, who has struggled all day with melted crayons and unreadable road signs, finds herself at the canyon's edge watching the sun's final rays reveal layers of earth. The sky and earth engage in a wordless dance, and she is their spectator, awestruck and grateful.
The scene's power comes from what it offers her: a way of knowing that bypasses the reading and writing that have always been difficult. She holds the melted crayon wax in her hands—yellow and orange lumps bearing her fingerprints—and presses her palms together, watching the colors bleed into one another until they seem to move through her, sinking into her pores. She calls the wax her own molten masterpiece, a phrase that connects the natural sunset to her own creative potential. When her mother sings the hymn, the narrator feels the words beneath the music and, beneath that, a colorful, radiant silence that invites her simply to be, without worrying about reading or writing or making sense of anything.
This is the first time she feels connected without having to read, write, or speak a single word. The sunset, and the colors it produces, become a language of their own. Colors on her hand, colors on her skin—this is her language, and she doesn't have to apologize for it. The sunset thus transforms a moment of frustration into a moment of self-acceptance. When the sun returns the next morning, she asks for new crayons because she knows she has more to draw, more to say.
New Mexico: Sunset as Artistic Palette
In the New Mexico chapter, the sunset appears not as a single dramatic moment but as a sequence of colors observed from the highway. Driving through Albuquerque in July 2016, the narrator watches the steel-blue sky lighten to teal, then blue turns to blush pink, and finally the sun crashes through with bright orange hues on the horizon. These colors, she writes, become the palette of her earliest work. When people ask about her creative process, she says they should go to Albuquerque.
Here the sunset's meaning shifts from a moment of wordless presence to a source of creative material. The colors are something she can carry with her even though she cannot stay. She cannot capture the wind, but she carries with her the color of the sky. The sunset becomes portable—not a place she can remain in, but a palette she can take into her art. This connects to the chapter's larger meditation on fleeting beauty: so many of the beautiful moments in her life have been fleeting. The sunset, by its nature, is the most fleeting of natural phenomena, and the narrator's response is not to try to hold it but to translate it into something lasting.
Texas: Sunset as Decision Point
The Texas chapter gives the sunset a different function: it marks a turning point in the narrator's adult life. She and her husband Patrick, after years of moving between Atlanta and Nashville while pursuing music careers, stop at a hotel outside Dallas during a national tour. They are struck by the open landscape and sunset and decide to move there. The sunset here is not a moment of awe or artistic inspiration but a catalyst for a life decision—a signal that the open landscape and its evening light offer something the cities they've been cycling through do not.
The chapter's emotional arc continues from this decision: financial problems persist in Dallas, and one rainy November night the narrator writes a twelve-line poem in her journal instead of a song, posts a photo of it online, and eventually reaches hundreds of thousands of people. The sunset that drew them to Texas thus becomes the backdrop for the beginning of her writing life, even though the poem itself is written on a rainy night.
Georgia: Sunset as Presence
The Georgia chapter, set in July 1996, contains the motif's earliest appearance, though it is less a literal sunset than a late-afternoon light and the fire of the Olympic torch. The family departs in the late afternoon, and the six-year-old narrator is disappointed by the late start. Traffic stalls near the Olympic torch tower, and she sees a twenty-story mural of faces on a hotel. The delay, which she initially resents, becomes an opportunity to observe: if they had left when her heart desired, they would have missed the clamoring scene. She feels connected to something bigger than the tick of the clock.
The torch's fire—a roaring light that draws the globe together—functions as a stand-in for the sunset in this chapter: a source of light that transforms an ordinary moment into something communal and awe-filled. The narrator's lesson is to enjoy the moment as it unfolds, nothing more, nothing less. This early scene establishes the pattern the sunset will later fulfill: a moment of light that interrupts the rush toward the next destination and demands presence.
California: Sunset as Homecoming
In the California chapter, the golden sun appears at the shore where the narrator sketches in her mid-twenties. Having moved west to support her mother's medical care, she drives to the ocean and writes the words in capital letters above her sketch of a sea turtle. She looks out at the calmness of the sea and the golden warmth of the sun oozing down into the air above her. The sunset here is gentler than the Grand Canyon's fiery display—a golden warmth that accompanies her return to the coast she dreamed of as a child. It marks not a departure or a decision but a homecoming, and it confirms what the Arizona sunset first taught her: that she can make art without needing to read, write, or speak in conventional ways.
Character and Theme Connections
The sunset motif connects most directly to the narrator herself, whose identity as an artist is forged in these moments of light. Her mother appears at the Grand Canyon, singing the hymn that gives voice to the family's shared awe. Her father appears in California, affirming her drawing with the words that she was created to create. Her sister shares her wonder at the Olympic torch in Georgia. Patrick shares the Texas sunset that leads to their move. Each sunset is witnessed in the company of family, grounding the motif in relationship rather than solitary reflection.
Thematically, the sunset supports the book's exploration of presence over impatience: the Georgia chapter's lesson about enjoying the moment is reinforced by every sunset that follows, since a sunset cannot be rushed or postponed. It also connects to art as self-understanding and connection: the Arizona sunset gives the narrator her language of color, and the New Mexico sky gives her her palette. The Texas sunset, tied to a decision to relocate, touches on the search for home in an unrooted life, while the California sunset resolves that search in a return to the coast.
Study Questions
1. How does the Grand Canyon sunset scene transform the narrator's relationship to language and art?
The scene follows a day of frustration in which the narrator's crayons melt and she cannot read the park's signs. At the canyon's edge, she discovers that the sunset and its colors offer a form of knowing that does not require reading or writing. She holds the melted wax in her hands and calls it her own molten masterpiece, recognizing that color is a language she can speak fluently. This realization becomes the foundation of her artistic identity, and the next morning she asks for new crayons because she has more to draw, more to say.
2. How does the sunset's meaning change between the Arizona and New Mexico chapters?
In Arizona, the sunset is a moment of pure presence: the narrator stands at the canyon's edge, watches the light fade, and feels connected without words. The experience is immediate and physical—she holds the colors in her hands. In New Mexico, the sunset is observed from a moving car and becomes a source of creative material. The narrator watches the sky shift from steel-blue to teal to blush pink to orange and decides these colors become the palette of her earliest work. The Arizona sunset teaches her that color is her language; the New Mexico sunset gives her the specific vocabulary she will use.
3. What role does the Texas sunset play in the narrator's adult life?
The Texas sunset functions as a catalyst for a major life decision. After years of moving between Atlanta and Nashville while pursuing music careers, the narrator and Patrick stop at a hotel outside Dallas and are struck by the open landscape and sunset, deciding to move there. The sunset represents the possibility of a different kind of life—one with more space and openness than the cities they've been cycling through. Though financial problems persist after the move, the decision leads indirectly to the poem that launches her writing career, making the Texas sunset a turning point in her creative life.
4. How does the California sunset differ from the earlier sunset scenes, and what does this difference suggest?
The California sunset is described as a golden warmth rather than a fiery display. It appears at the shore where the narrator sketches a sea turtle and writes words of affirmation, and it accompanies her return to the coast she dreamed of as a child. Unlike the Arizona sunset, which is witnessed in a moment of awe, or the New Mexico sunset, which is observed from a passing car, the California sunset is experienced in a place she has chosen to be. It suggests a resolution to the book's recurring tension between movement and belonging: the narrator has finally arrived somewhere that feels like home, and the sunset's warmth confirms that she belongs there.