So before you start reading, here’s a warning. This is a bit of a personal blog post, and my out-of-whack body clock has my thoughts a little unhinged as a result. So due to that I’m a tad anxious and on-edge. Read on if you’re cool with that – this sort of blog post is going to be few and far between. I’m still not sure how I feel about posting this.
“The Hour of the Wolf is the hour between night and dawn. It is the hour when most people die, when sleep is deepest, when nightmares are most real. It is the hour when the sleepless are haunted by their deepest fear, when ghosts and demons are most powerful.”
- Tagline from the 1968 Ingmar Bergman horror film entitled Hour of the Wolf.
So I’m staring into the maw of two night shifts and I’m nervous. Not only is some big work going on and it has super high visibility (so I can’t screw up!), but I’m going to be up and kicking during the hour of the wolf. The hour of the wolf is typically in the early early morning, and represented the time wolves would lurk outside your home waiting.
I hate this time of night.
The hour of the wolf is the time at night when your demons loom. When your best effort doesn’t seem enough. Everyone else is asleep, tucked away, and you are fighting poltergeists of problems and worries and fears.
Maybe the thing that makes these fears the worst is that they base themselves off very real concerns and problems we identify in ourselves. An unwarranted fear can generally be cast aside; but one with a seed of truth scares us to the core.
For me, mine focus around myself as a person. I’ve always been an utter failure at social situations and friendships and human relationships in general. I just can’t work them. I’ve covered it up over the years by speaking loudly and behaving in an extroverted fashion but really, that’s just not me. It’s a clever cover, but if you hang around long enough you see it’s not the real me.
It comes to a point where you have enough people come and go as friends, close friends and companions and you realize they aren’t to blame for the broken bridges and ashes left in the wake of their friendship. It’s you. You can strike back at life for dealing you lemons, you can huddle away from the world, but it’s not going to stop the circle you insist on traveling in. And that notion, that feeling is both terrifying and depressing. Being alone, being solitary is not what human beings were built to do. It slowly destroys us. So why are some of us so intent on destroying any meaningful social relations and relegating ourselves to this lonely hermit existence?
I’m quick to judge. I’m horribly vindictive and will write people and things off at the drop of a hat and it’s plagued me my entire life. Sure, I have my reasons, I have my battle scars for acting this way. But it doesn’t make it right. So why is it so hard to change? Why do we keep repeating the mistakes of our past?
It’s super hard to be a good human being sometimes. We’re all broken and we’re all very hard to fix. These flaws that make us imperfect make us human, make us relatable. But do they make us bad people?
I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to contemplate during the hour of the wolf.