When I think about waking up, I feel dread. Even in the moment, I resist as hard as I can. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to try and work on projects or start work. Morning has never been my favorite time of day.
But I can’t help but think of the mornings that I woke up in my last quarter of college. I would wake up early and look out the window. The sun would be coming up and the reds and oranges and pinks would splatter across the blue-ish sky. I didn’t like the mornings. I didn’t savor starting my day early, but I felt happy watching that sunrise take over the sky. Often, I would get to work on schoolwork or something and just savor the morning time.
When I think of my favorite time, I think of night, I think of twilight. I revel in the slow fading of the light. The color splashes are just as intense and the quiet of night is where I feel best. It’s the time of day that I can really get something done.
I don’t ‘work’ at night. I don’t really take care of anything that’s serious work. I cut myself off at a certain time because night is a sacred time.
Night is when I spend time writing and when I let my imagination run wild.
There is no time of day that is perfect. Each one has its own problems. But I’m working on falling in love with each part of the day. If I find the value in all of it, then I’ll be able to really appreciate it all.