Steady as the Stars in the Woods

I've never liked nighttime very much. It's weird, because I love sleeping and I welcome silence, and you'd think that would make me a fan of the night hours. It doesn't though, and I think I'm ready to admit after 21 years of life that I just don't like nighttime.

I do my worst thinking in the dark. I do my best panicking, make my worst mistakes, decide on my worst decisions, fear my worst fears. You can believe almost anything when you wake up and the sun is shining, or perhaps it isn't, but rain is pattering against the window and you realize it's morning, the first minute of a day with no mistakes in it yet. And you can go through a day, as people weave in and out of your story, alive, walking down the street and down the grocery aisle, with resolve to believe anything. There's something about the morning that brings a person expanse and possibility, and there's something about the daytime that keeps us living as we go. But then the sun sets sometimes and the world shows itself a different place.

At least, it does to me. I'm like a five year old sometimes about night. I never admit it, but there's a dread that creeps in when I'm balancing life so well all day and the sun goes down. All bets are off, kinda. I can be anxious without knowing why, the things I pushed to the side all day come flooding back in, loneliness becomes possible even for me.

Back in November there was a cold snap just before Thanksgiving. The week David and I broke up. Every morning I woke up with the ability to think logically about what needed to happen for me to get through the day, and with much effort I usually made it. But every time the sun set, my stomach sank even lower than the low level where it was residing. Nighttime again. Darkness again. Why does it have to be nighttime again? Everything is worse at nighttime.

And there was a cold snap and it was too frigid for this, but I ran late every night. 5 miles down Belmont Blvd and back, or 8 miles the other way. Up the hill of 18th, or through the neighborhoods of 12South. I just ran, because my stomach had fire in it and my heart needed to beat fast and the anxiety of night made me afraid of doing anything else. I couldn't believe life was good after dark. I couldn't believe anything good after dark.

I'm not always that bad about it. But even when I'm doing well I go to bed early, and this is partly why. I don't like staying up late because I feel anxiety. I think maybe I start to feel the weight of the world I otherwise ignore because I like to see the bright side. In my hatred of imperfection I am an optimist, refusing to acknowledge broken things if at all possible. I go through life searching for the pretty and the worthy, the hopeful and the good. God made me for the morning. But in His grace He is teaching me to deal with the things that scare me, the dark emotions I ignore because they detract from my notion of rightness. He is teaching me to deal with the nighttime.

And tonight the sun went down, the wind blew hard, knocking tree arms against windows as I sat. But I did not ignore it. I did not do anything. I sat.

And when I drove home, I felt sad, for not any one reason. So I made my iPhone play Old Pine through its speakers on repeat, and I held it up close to my face as I drove like people sometimes do when they're on speakerphone. With the speaker up by my ear and my elbow on the arm rest, listening. I did not do anything. I listened. "Steady as the stars in the woods."

God made me for the morning and I will wait till it comes. But until then, He is teaching me to deal with the nighttime.