“3 AM is the hour of writers, painters, poets, over-thinkers, and creative people. We know who you are; we can see your light on. Keep on keeping on.”
FOR THE LAST FOUR MONTHS, I have mostly written anything in the night and morning hours. I do spend a lot of my time with myself. I try to be creative with my time. I do that by writing, doing yoga, reading great books, and tonight I’ve been painting! There are a lot of things that I do in the night, but I mostly just love studying and writing. And I’m usually doing all these things when the world is quiet.
I wasn’t a night owl for the vast majority of my adult years, I’ve usually began my busy day early and ended it later. I only moved here to Provo a few months ago and I picked up a job at the ice rink around the corner. They were obviously training a lot of newcomers but since I’m trained already, I picked up the closing shift during the week. My busy day got moved later, and I even stay up for another five hours after I get home from work past midnight. Things have changed a bit since this quarantine business began, but I’m still staying up late drinking coffee, smoking herb, and spewing creativity.
I was doing the same thing in Salt Lake when I had the night shift at the Oval. Even back then, I quickly loved the late hours of the night. I love the late hours of the night now.
There’s an ethereal feeling in the night. As soon is it gets dark and most people are going to sleep, I’m just turning it on and hanging out.
I love listening to music in the night.
I love painting in the night.
I love writing in the night.
I love playing my guitar in the night.
I love doing yoga at night.
Some of the most memorable moments in my life have happened at night and I want to tell you one.
I wrote a separate blog about this story last year. This happened a few years ago in what might have been a manic episode, although I was actually feeling very free-spirited for the first time maybe.
I wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge for my whole life. I was tired of waiting for it to ever happen so I took off and hitchhiked there and back to Salt Lake in just a few days. The half of the first night after I arrived, I slept there on the bay next to a fire that I made out of trash from the beach.
In the quiet night of the San Francisco bay I slept next to a warm fire, listening to the waves wash up on the beach. I starred at the enormous bridge in front of me for hours into the night. When my fire went out, so did I, and I went to see the other half of the night.
I walked for miles from Crissy Field to the wharf and all the way down to pier 14. Here’s a picture from when I arrived to the end of the pier in the dead of the night. It has been in the deepest part of the night for me.
“Being a night owl is great, While others are enjoying their dreams, You are the one who is CRAFTING it.”