NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS AFTER MIDNIGHT

For most of my life, I considered myself a night owl. I frequently stayed up until two or three o'clock in the morning.

I knew people who got up at 4:00 or 5:00 am. I just couldn't relate. There were too many nights when I was just getting home around that time.

Born at 11:14 pm, I joked that I had arrived a night owl. It was my destiny.

And I worked well late at night. I liked working when most of the world was asleep. I flourished in the silence.

There was a tradeoff, however.

Mornings.

How I hated mornings—just let me sleep until noon.

It worked well when I was in my late teens. It was kind of a badge of honor to get home with just enough time to shower, dress, and barely make it to work by 8:00. And then to somehow go do it again the next night.

Gradually and grudgingly, things started to shift.

Most of the world doesn't live in the dark.

My kids had to leave for school by seven. My husband needed to be in his office by nine. My treasured late nights started getting more and more expensive.

The life that seemed so fun and free in my early 20's wasn't fitting as well in my 30's.

Eventually, I got tired of being tired. I got tired of being late.

My body wasn't as cooperative with late nights.

My husband's boss had a saying. "Nothing good happens after midnight."

I was starting to understand what he meant.

The life I wanted when I was 18 was no longer the life I wanted at 35.

By default, I started going to bed earlier. Eleven o'clock was late by many people's standards, but that was an early night for me. It was a struggle to get up by seven.

For years, an alarm clock was my constant companion.

I dreaded the heart-stopping blare that would jolt me out of blissful, deep sleep. I never loved cold, dark mornings, which seemed to be the norm in the Pacific Northwest. My first instinct was always to cover back up into the warm, dark cave of my blankets and go back to sleep. Getting up early was hard. Unnatural.

One day I discovered alarms that would wake me to light rather than sound. They mimic the sunrise. The light would gradually get brighter. And, just for people like me, there was a backup alarm when the light got to the brightest level. I promptly invested in one, and waking up earlier started to get easier. I found the gentle process of waking to light far more comfortable than the three-alarm-fire clang of my old clock.

My husband retired and the kids moved on to their own lives. Now that I could sleep later—I couldn't. Seven o'clock found me wide awake and ready to go.

A few years ago, life changed again. We moved to the desert.

And I discovered mornings.

Somewhere along the way, I had a startling realization.

Holy shit. I'm sitting here drinking coffee at 4:00 in the morning—and I don't have a plane to catch.

There was a time when I dreaded having to get up at that ungodly hour. Now I was beginning to look forward to it. Some nights I went to bed almost eager for morning to come so I could get up and start my day.

I had become one of those people.

But I still had that quiet time to work while the rest of the world was sleeping. Only now, I had fresh energy for it.

And that's when I began to understand something.

Maybe I had never really been a night owl.

Maybe I just loved the hours when nobody needed anything from me.

At two in the morning, the phone didn't ring. There was nowhere I needed to be. No one was waiting for an answer. The world was quiet, and the hours belonged entirely to me.

Now I had found those same hours on the other side of sleep.

And there's something magical about sitting outside in the early darkness with my coffee and dogs, watching the world wake up.

I love the way the sky glows yellow and orange as the sun comes up, the way the light starts gently easing the darkness into a new day. I still love beautiful sunsets. Now I get beautiful sunrises, too.

The flickers and finches and hummingbirds start coming in for breakfast and a quick dip in my fountain.

Neighbors begin coming out to say good morning. The phone starts ringing, work beckons, and the magic of the morning is broken.

I'm not a night owl. I'm not a morning person either.

I'm simply someone who values quiet time to think, create, and observe. Letting go of a label that no longer fit allowed me to experience things I never would have otherwise.

Tonight I'll be asleep by 9:00.

And that's okay. After all, nothing good happens after midnight!