Daughter of the Night

For as long as I remember, I’ve been a daughter of the night (minus the fangs).  I’ve always loved the night and everything about it.

When I was in high school, I would come home from school and take a nap.  I’d then get back up later and either go hang out with friends or start on homework and watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, followed by Roseanne and Golden Girls (yes, I’ve always been a nerd).  Regardless of the plans, I would end up staying up until crazy hours – usually 1am or so.

In college, It was much the same thing, except I wonderfully discovered (after the all holy hell of a 7am Calculus class my freshman year) the joys of scheduling late classes.  During those days, most late nights were spent hanging with friends – until they went to bed, and then I’d stay up even later on my own.  Back then, I was a journal-writing demon.  I was constantly recording thoughts, experiences, memories, quotes, ponderings, sorrows, laughs, and just about every crazy thought that crossed my mind.  I also wrote poetry incessantly.  So while I would often stay up reading or watching movies, I was often writing, too.  I still have all of the journals, but look back on some of the entries in abject horror.

I’ve been watching the show “Angel,” with my dad lately.  He’s loving it, which makes me so happy.  It is a great show.  But there was a line in it where a woman who used to be a vampire is sitting outside at night holding jasmine.  She says this:

Jasmine. It blooms at night. I remember what that  was like.

That’s kind of how I’ve always felt about myself.  I bloom at night.  I’ve always felt that I come alive at night.  And I’ve always been a bit of a loner.  Don’t get me wrong, sometimes there’s nothing that makes me happier than spending time with friends and family – going out and having a blast – but I’m most comfortable at home by myself.  And at night, the world sleeps.  The quietness surrounds me like a sleeping bag warm from the dryer. Alone, I was able to stop pretending to be something I’m not.  I was able to be myself and not have the immediate worry about what others might think if I said or did something they thought was weird.

I also always loved thinking of all of the people slumbering in innocence, their fears and worries of the day hopefully pushed aside for dreams to make their way into their minds.  You wonder about those who, like you, are awake and experiencing the dead of night.  Do they, like you, merely enjoy the beauty of the night sky, the solitude, the drifting away of worries for just a little while?  Or are they up with a sick friend, worried about their job, or afraid to face the day (or even enjoying some of the other pleasures of the night)?

I’ve always been a dreamer, a lover of possibilities.  But I’ve also always been a worrier, afraid of many of those same possibilities.  My mind runs in infinite directions at once, a cacophony of “what if?”

Somewhere along the way, my refuge disappeared.  I allowed the worries of the day, the fears emanating from the brightness of the light to taint the serenity I found in the night.  Crappy jobs and even crappier bosses (not talking about my current job), money problems, friend problems, etc., all collided to invade and spoil my only sanctuary.  I was hurt badly by a few friends, and devastated by my brother’s  death.  And now, I feel as though I’m trying to refill an empty shell  with the ghost of who I was.

But I’m not who I was.  I’m the sum of 32 years worth of memories and experiences.

Factoring in my long history with the night, it would only make sense  that I would end up in a job in which I work second shift until after  midnight.  I’ve been doing that for about eight years now.  And in those  eight years, I watched as excuse upon excuse shifted me into a hermit  that lost sight of the beauty of the light.

Which leads me to the second half of the quote I mentioned above.  “I  remember what that was like.”  I remember what it was like to find  peace and comfort and time to dream within the late night hours.  I  remember blooming and coming alive, feeling comfortable in my skin while  the world sleeps.  I remember all of those things, and yet now, the  dreamer in me is left alone.

I still love the night.  I will always love the night.  But more and  more lately, I merely sense my burgeoning loneliness.  Those same quiet  hours where once I heard the singing of poems and ideas and dreams  flowing through my veins, are now merely filled with silence.  The only  moments in which I felt free to be myself don’t matter anymore, because  I’m the only one who knows about her.  It’s not enough anymore. I want  more.

I want to recapture my poetic dreamer soul, and lose the afraid cynical veneer that I’ve doused myself with.  I need to figure out how to embrace the light while still adoring the night.  I need to learn how to cherish my “me” time, while still allowing others into my life and heart.

My work hours don’t make things easy.  Sure, I can hit Wal-Mart or the grocery store after work some nights to get them out of the way, but every weekend feels like a constant rush to cram as much in as I possibly can.  It’s exhausting.  Maybe it’s time to rethink some things.

But I do know that I’m one heck of a woman LOL I have a lot to offer myself and the world.  And lately I’ve been struggling against 30+ years worth of worrying about what others think to accept the me that I’ve become.  I may not be what others wanted me to become, what I wanted me to become, or have fulfilled my potential yet.  I may not be what others think is “cool,” or “wonderful,” or have the interests that most people think a 32 year old woman should have, but damn it, when I put all of that (and my physical self-doubt) aside, I think I’m pretty amazing.

All I know is that I’m fed up with my trying-to-please others self.  I can’t be anything but what I am or what I want to try to be.  And I can’t be what everyone wants.  I’d be ripped in 3 billion different directions at once.  And that’s exactly what I’ve tried to do for 32 years.  No wonder I now feel as though I’m putting back together the puzzle pieces of who I am.

So here I am, at 2am, vowing to set in motion some changes in my life.  For now, my work hours are nonnegotiable.  But there are other things I can be doing to pull myself out of my comfort zone (within reason) and back into the land of the living.  And I’m vowing to try.

I remember what it was like to bloom at night and I remember what it was like to forget how.  Now, I’m going to work on blooming into me, regardless of the time on the clock.