The Curious Case of the Girl in the Night

I'm one of those self-hating night owls; the kind that actually loves the morning time, but my body doesn't agree. The night awakens something in me: a strange mixture of creativity, looming possibilities, fears, and the motivation that daytime-me couldn't find anywhere. The night is quiet enough to let your insecurities hum in the background. You replay the events of the day in a loop that always highlights what you should've done instead or project a future that is either much brighter or bleaker than the reality of tomorrow.

Darkness is the birthplace of to do lists and phantom bed bugs. If the dark had a resume, among its many skills would be that high-pitched buzzing sound your nervous system makes when it's silent and the leg cramp inducing fear that you're forgetting something you need to do. Essentially, the dark and I are in a love/hate relationship.



It's finally here, that part that everyone warned me about, the "there will be hard times" part. I'm reaching that point, just past a month's time here, where it's setting in that this isn't a vacation. The paradox of what makes a vacation is there's always an end date. We're always so sad to return to our regular lives, but underneath it all we need that- to have something solid to come back to. For all the complaining I've ever done about working or having responsibilities, about the mundanity of them, I've never understood how useful they really are to keeping you from feeling dispensable.


It's been a few days since I've written. I've been busy grappling with the idea of actually having a life to write about. Turns out it's just as easy to waste a day in Switzerland as it is anywhere else in the world, there's just more chocolate to fill the empty void of purposelessness. I have short thought tangents where I think, "does it really matter what I do? I can just pick some stupid job, being somewhere new was the whole point of this right?"


I think these scared, wisdom-less posts are just as essential to painting a true picture of my journey. We like to show off the high points, put them into a seamless powerpoint of touched up photos that erase any idea of transitional struggle; but it's the struggle that's important. It's hard to realize that while it's happening; but it's here, where doubt-- an old friend-- reintroduces itself, that the real questions come and the true tests of character exist.