Spring Time 12/20/2020 I've always been a night owl. I can remember bringing a flashlight with me to bed, and staying up reading books under the covers, perfectly convinced my parents had no idea. I remember the old gray TV I was allowed to have in my room, scooting my bed next to it so I could reach the buttons, as I fell asleep to it playing inches from my face. I had to learn how to use the sleep timer because we didn't have our electric company confirming that a running TV results in a negligible impact on your overall bill. When I was in high school, I worked at a movie theater, regularly not getting off of work until 10 or 11 PM, then I would stay out with my friends, roaming parking lots and Steak N Shakes. I was always down for the after after party in college, and when I had nothing to do but drug studies and sleep, I preferred to sleep from 5 to 11 AM.
I read about different people's sleep cycles, and how “not being a morning person” is as biologically encoded as those who are bafflingly able to run a marathon from their first steps off the bed. I still feel it now. Some days I'll start a project when I get off work, find a groove, and I don't want to stop, getting more energy as the night carries on. Knowing that the world immediately around me is still grants me a license and intentionality I don't find that often during the day.
I've spent a good portion of my life on the “normal” schedule, whether the habits were instilled by school or day jobs. I feel the difference palpably between going to sleep and waking up at regular times, and letting my in-built nature to stay up remain ambivalent of the time or consequences. It's a hard contrast which has provoked this blog. I'm tired, tight, and working back the dread of my day. Two days ago I stayed up in spite of myself and ate a bunch of sugar. I'm still “suffering” that series of decisions now, as well as the anxiety over paperwork I woke up at 2 AM to mostly complete.
Despite the rhythm or ease with which I might be able to emulate the mold of a day-walker, it's not me. I can practice it every day, and one loose afternoon I can affirm what I'd rather, what I *need* in order to feel normal, consequences be dammed. I'm 32. I'm never going to be fundamentally someone who wakes up early, goes to bed early, and finds peace.
What does this kind of understanding of myself afford me? I know what kind of jobs or management I'm going to be able to entertain or for about how long. I know when an ideal I migh've held can no longer conjure up the zeal or indignation required to push it over a cliff. I know how vitally important it is to pay attention when something doesn't fit and to record how often you seem to be experiencing the same problem. I still procrastinate on paperwork. I'm still not bought-in. I still find no sense of value or worth in focusing and drilling down to get it done. I may put off cleaning a cat box, but it doesn't fill me with hopelessness and shame when I finally get to it.
I'm extremely thankful I've been able to pull off what I have in regard to my life thus far. My timelines are accelerating. My bills, even when they suggest a “major” expense, are embarrassingly indulgent. I get to have these daily crises of confidence and faith in how I make my money knowing that they are more and more a choice of luxury than at the behest of my overlord. To borrow an idea from a book on happiness I'm reading, I'm not “hungry” that any one thing I buy or business I create is going to enable more happiness, but I am hungry to stop feeling obligated to a certain kind of engagement and expense. I don't think my sense of what's practical has caused me more harm than good, but its limitations feel altogether strangling when your eyes are fixed on what's beyond the horizon.
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