Getting Through the Nights

The nighttime has always been important to me. It’s the best time for me to write, getting all of my thoughts out under a softly glowing lamp and the gentle sound of music in my ears. For years, I’ve felt like this was my special time, where vulnerability and rawness are encouraged rather than maligned.

The dark has been my friend when no one else would be.

All of this is still true, and I hope it remains true for my whole life. But lately, the night has also taken on a more morose tone for me, a sense of loneliness and frustration.

There’s something inescapable about the night. Ironically, it allows things and people to physically hide within its cloak of obscurity. It typically doesn’t, however, allow you to hide emotionally.

The dark strips away the bright lights, the expectations, the performance. We’re left on a bare stage, the curtains drawn, the audience empty. The script slips from our hands and we’re left staring at it, the entire room quiet enough for us to hear our own breathing echo against the walls.

Sometimes the night is beautiful, the routine rest from the worries and prejudices of the day. Sometimes it’s unnerving, forcing us to sit alone with ourselves, remember who we are and who we try our hardest not to be.

Sometimes it’s both. Tonight, it’s both.

Who says fear and sadness can’t be beautiful? It’s what we do with it that matters.

The night is just a scheduled intermission in the play of life. Let’s make the most of it.

Until next time,

-D.