I don’t remember when it started, but sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, open my eyes, look at the clock, and it’s 3 a.m. It took me a while, but I finally discovered that 3 a.m. is my time. Just me and myself, only for me.
At three a.m., there is silence, absolute silence. It’s just me and my undisturbed thoughts. At three a.m., worries, problems, and anxieties don’t come to me, only clarity. At this hour, my mind is as calm as nowhere else, and my thoughts are clear, bright, and surprisingly organized. Sometimes I wake up and suddenly I just know. Something that has been bothering and terrifying me for the last few days becomes completely simple. At 3 a.m., I could arrange arguments for my articles, answer questions about the meaning of life, love, work, come up with new theories, and make new resolutions. Because this hour is not for mundane things like “I don’t know what to cook for dinner.” It is about questions like ‘why do I always cook the same thing? Where has my creativity gone? Why doesn’t cooking give me as much pleasure as it used to?’. Because 3 a.m. is my conversation with myself, without chaos, without the endless rush of thoughts, stimuli and voices, without hesitation and fear. It’s my meditation, my space, I feel that at 3 a.m. I am most myself and at home, I don’t need anyone or anything, just me. And no, it doesn’t happen every day. Sometimes a few times a week, sometimes a few times a month. At first it was rare, until I realized the power and need I had, to be there. There, meaning at home and at peace with myself. Now when I wake up at night, I know that’s the reason.
Suddenly, in the midst of a beautiful thought that has just taken hold of my mind and is leading me towards another illumination, I hear the door opening downstairs and I know… I know that it’s over for today. Then, small steps stumping up the stairs and running towards the bedroom door. The patter of little feet very effectively ends my deliberations about the state of my soul. The door slams, little creature climbing into bed, and I automatically pull back the covers so that her icy feet can jump in and lie on my thigh (if all goes well) or straight on my stomach, which is soft and warm, giving me a shiver that runs through my whole body. And so it all ends, because I’m facing chaos again, I’m no longer alone, and it’s late anyway, so I need to fall asleep because in a few hours I have to wake up to life.
I write because my unblemished mind from 3 am told me to do so. I don’t have any grand motives or goals. I write to capture those moments when everything seems clear and simple, because I want to see if it can really be that way and if it can be translated/incorporated into a more tangible life. Can thoughts go beyond this strange meditative, liminal state of the 3 am? I decided to try…
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