I have been one acquainted with the night.

I’m what you might call a night person. A person’s in a totally different mindset at three, four in the morning than he’s in at lunch or even when the sun’s just gone down. There’s something about that time of night, when businesses are long closed and most sane people have gone to bed, that attracts me, that always has. I can’t find the right word to describe it. Most good conversations seem to happen at night – I don’t know how many nights in high school I stayed up late on AIM, chatting about nothing and everything with whoever happened to be online at the time. It might simply be attributed to tiredness, synapses not firing the way they do after a good night of sleep. That can’t be it, though.

The whole world has a different feel to it when the only lights are coming from streetlamps and the occasional headlights of a passing car. You’re more open and honest with people then, maybe because of the simple rapport you share through knowing that you’re the only ones awake. Rationale and logic go out the window, and you begin to say what you really feel instead of tiptoeing around it. I can’t really call it cathartic, unless you have something you happen to be getting off your chest at the time. Ethereal, maybe. Surreal. I’ve told people things during various late night chats that, thinking back the next day, I wonder, Did I really say that out loud? Thinking about it further, though, I’ll realize that nine times out of ten, the statement in question was completely and utterly honest. That’s the way all conversations should be.

Last week, after walking back from 7-11 and encountering a homeless man asking us with tears in his eyes if we could spare a little bit of change for some gas money, a friend of mine made the intriguing comment, “I think three a.m. is when people’s lives start to suck.” It’s easy to hide from your problems in the hustle and bustle of a crowd, sitting in a packed restaurant or surrounded by a hundred people taking the same test you are. It’s easier to fit in, or at least pretend that you do. At night, though, when you finally have time to sit down by yourself and think about your station in life, everything becomes real. You can’t hide from it, you can’t distract yourself, you can’t pretend they’re not there because they’re not affecting your life at that very moment. When it’s just you, sitting on a street corner in darkness when there’s not a waking soul anywhere in sight, you feel like the only person in the world. All of your problems, your worries and fears and concerns, envelop you because that’s all there is. It’s a scary thing to some people, some more than others.

I’ve decided to stop telling people about whatever girl I might or might not have/develop a crush on as our relationship develops. I had a big thing for a girl last semester, and instead of telling her about it, I talked to everyone but her. Everything I wanted to say to her, everything I was feeling, I instead vented to various friends at various times of day. The same thing’s happened this semester on a much smaller scale. I’m tired of telling people over and over, “This is the girl, I can feel it,” “We have this great connection going on,” only to watch it fizzle out and simply stop bringing it up. Saying it out loud makes me feel like I’m doing something about it, even though I’m obviously not. If there’s a girl I like, I’m not going to talk to her for half an hour and then spend another two hours hashing over every nuance of the conversation with friends. Things I should be saying to her, I’m saying to Danny or Sean. I think that when I finally sit down with the girl that’s caught my eye and lay everything down on the line, I’d like to be in that late-night mindset. When I’m there, I’m not exactly logical or rational, but why should I be? It’s easier to talk to her in a stream of consciousness than stammer over every word, trying to decide what to say next that’s going to freak her out the least. If you think about it, in a strictly biological sense, is there anything logical or rational about love?

I’m pulling an all-nighter tonight because I can’t fall asleep. I slept for eleven hours two nights in a row, so when I laid down a few hours ago, sleep just didn’t come. I’m still not tired. Around me, I hear alarms going off, people waking up and showering and heading to their eight a.m. classes. The Quad’s not deserted anymore – some people are getting back from their morning jogs, others are ambling around, half awake, with a recently-purchased cup of coffee. The “real world” has returned in full force. I don’t think I’ll be in the same mindset I’m in now in a couple hours, once I’ve fallen back into my daily routine. Like I said earlier, that particular mindset can’t just come from a lack of sleep. It won’t be like normal, though, either. I’m not refreshed enough after a night spent chatting and reading to fall back into that pattern. I think I’m okay with that.

Postscript: I carried this poem around with me in my wallet until my mom ran it through the washer. I found it during a poetry research project junior year. Seems to reflect my thoughts on the matter exactly. Enjoy it, for what it's worth.


Acquainted with the Night
Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.