I’m a day person. Given a choice between day and night, I always pick day, regardless of the context. I just prefer natural light. Things are brighter during the day, more vibrant. There’s the anticipation of a full day ahead of you, ripe with possibility. In contrast, nights, with their dull artificial lights and that feeling of wrapping up, have a sure-fire way of making me depressed.
I have memories of having Sunday night blues as early as when I was 6. I didn’t like my school, so I was always reluctant to go. Sunday nights were especially bad, and I’d spend entire evenings clinging to my mother and crying about having to go to school after two glorious days off. Thankfully, I didn’t have Sunday night blues that bad for a long time after that, but they came back with a vengeance when I started work. I never stopped associating evenings and nights with that miserable feeling, though, so even though I neither have to go to school or work these days, I still feel that little twinge when I see the sun starting to set.
I hope one day I’m able to shake off that feeling of loneliness and hopelessness and appreciate nights for their true wonder. I hope one day I get to lie in a large empty field under the open sky, wind blowing through my hair, looking up at thousands of stars, tracing constellations and identifying shapes on the surface of a full moon with someone I love. I hope I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the universe and awed by its magnificence. I hope I feel insignificant, but in that calm, peaceful way that assures me that nothing is too big of a problem, and that everything always works out in the end. That’s the feeling I want to associate nights with.
I hope one day I look at the setting sun, and instead of feeling sad about the end of the day, I feel excited about the beginning of the night.