I have a weird relationship with nighttime. There was a point in my academic journey after which nighttime became a time to be productive in the task-based sense rather than just a time when you went to sleep. I can trace that moment back to me in Grade 8, when I was trying to finish an assignment for an advanced online maths course I was taking. I emailed the assignment to my instructor at 8:30pm, and in it I apologized for how inappropriate of a time it was to be sending an email. Looking back at that email, I am shocked at how little time it took for my standards of “acceptable” and “non-acceptable” bedtime to be completely rewritten.
It is arguably a capitalistic idea that asks adults to be productive as often as possible. If you aren’t working for a purpose of creating monetary profit, then what good does your existence serve? I’ve had the chance to rebel from this idea in the most lavish way the last couple of months, because I was living at home with my parents after finishing my university degree. It felt like a far from perfect arrangement while it was happening, but in retrospect it was a blissful way to exist in the sunniest months of the year in Canada. I would spend hours at the local library reading a book or piecing together a puzzle. Somedays, I’d pull out my laptop and do bland, about-to-be-overdue administrative work. I’d proceed to spend my nights with absolutely no to-do list.
Now, however, I’m back in school. And with this comes long to-do lists, deadlines and social pressures for what life should look like at this stage. And though I am currently still adjusting to this new life, a wiser part of my brain that has already processed the adjustment knows that my life of peaceful, lazy nights is likely over.
Night time is also more emotionally difficult than the day. For example, a problem or conflict seems much more existential in the nighttime than in the daytime. It is when I feel most vulnerable to my intrusive thoughts and to indulging/relapsing into bad habits. It is also when it is hard for me to sit still, because then all of the issues or tiny cuts accumulating through the day will resurface, conglomerate and become too much to tackle at once. Then there is “revenge procrastination”, that concept of your brain wanting to relax after having been denied the chance to do so earlier.
Why I tend to leave work until the nighttime, when I know my brain is most defenceless, I don’t know. And the fact that I have continued to do so over many years fails me. I remember, for example, the first time I stayed up until 1am. Of all the emotions I could have felt, I felt proud to have done something difficult and to be sacrificing in such a dramatic way.
Avoiding the problem has been the way I’ve gone about this problem for years. For example, I used to pull all nighters for a statistics course in university and find humour (rather than concern) in telling friends about the situation. But I feel I am at a point where the relationship I have built with nighttime won’t work anymore. I’ve simply lost interest in being sleepy during the day, being unfocused in important moments and dreading the morning alarm.
One solution I am trying to imbue into my habitual thoughts is to think in larger units of time when it concerns stress-relieving things. Procrastination might serve me well in the moment, but it won’t in the span of a day or week. Staying up late to watch something funny might help me take the edge off today, but won’t feel good tomorrow. As one of my early mentors phrased it, “be kind to your future self”.
Interlude: I have read some books by drug users, alcoholics and family members of both. They have described their addictions as being habits formed to deal with complex emotions, and were ways for them to “take the edge off”. For me, the internet is my drug. Though the way I interact with the internet isn’t a crime, my relationship with procrastination and internet use has helped me begin to understand how addiction might operate. It’s creates a false need.
Lately, it has felt like I am walking on a tightrope. I feel acutely aware that life is not in my control and that I am exposed to the repercussions of my choices and actions. Sometimes, I think about extracting myself from societies structured around intellectual capacity and finding my recluse in a job where I only need to do things my body can physically manage (and then I remember that I left a job like this, driven partly by being unfulfilled from it – ahh, to be satiated). It isn’t always that I look at a blank slate and think of all the things that can wrong. I know this is a season of my life, and that it will pass. I just wish it could pass sooner, or that I could get a glimpse of my life 20 years in the future and see that the things I love and need the most are there.
Another thought. You know how people say “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”? Though I don’t want to hear that said to me any time soon, it does give me faith that the bad elements of life will make me stronger. I’ll likely be bracing myself for all bad things to come, but knowing that there is a chance my worse fears too won’t break my spirit is a tantalizing thought.
Torrent: to do with a large onslaught of fluid. Often associated with rain or streams of water.
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