A night costs a day

I used to stay up all night without thinking twice. Now I check if I can afford to.

Photo by Steve Douglas on Unsplash

It’s eight o’clock, and the blackout curtains go up.

They aren’t the nice ones. They are the ones we have bought specifically to lie to our kids, and ourselves, about what time it is.

Outside it’s as bright as four in the afternoon, and will stay that way for hours.
So we create a dusk behind the curtains, which the sky doesn’t provide.

It works somewhat. The kids eventually fall asleep.
But in the morning, at 5am, one of them lands on my chest and says, “Get up”.

There was a time when I stayed out all night on a night like this.

We had a fire by the water, at someone’s summer place, when the sky never went fully dark. We would only see the sky dim a little. We’d see it go down, barely under the horizon, and then a few hours later come up again. We’d talk, heat up some sausages, and drink beer. I’d laugh along, a half-second behind the others, and not mind it.

No one suggested sleep. At that age, we joked that sleep is for the weak. And since the night never ended, why would it have ended for me?

But I did have a rule. I only ever agreed to a whole night like that if I knew I was free the next day, that I had no commitments. I needed permission from myself, granted in advance.

The fire, grey light, being awake all night. All of it was inside a box I had agreed to before I arrived.

Once, back in university, I had stayed up without checking. But I’ve filed that under students do stupid things, which is what you say about a night you can’t otherwise explain.

But our children. They don’t check anything.

The concept of tomorrow isn’t in them yet. There’s just the light, and the light says ‘keep going’. So they keep going until they fall over. The reckoning the following day belongs to someone that doesn’t exist for them yet.

I’m not sure if I could do it now. Even if my calendar were free, and the fire is available, and there’s light all night.

Previously, all I needed to do was to consider if tomorrow was empty.

Now, I consider if tomorrow is empty enough that I can afford to lose it. Because losing a night of sleep will make me lose the next day, even if I was awake.
Being awake a whole night costs a full day now. Sometimes even two.

As I’m sitting here in the evening at 11pm, looking at the sun still bright as if it were 5pm, thinking about the price I once paid without a second thought.

The curtains are up in the bedroom, and the kids are asleep. Or at least pretending very convincingly. And it will still be bright enough outside for hours.

Perhaps I could still do it. I’ve thought that for a few summers now.

If this felt familiar, you can explore more of my writing here.

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