I love the night. I love late nights spent laughing or dancing or galavanting about the city. My brain buzzes with stories and Game of Thrones theories and lists of supplies to survive the zombie apocalypse (I’ve started watching The Walking Dead). I plan for the future, write poems. On the rare perfect evening I’ve contentedly watched the single New York City star or the entire patchwork of glittering celestial beings visible in the country.

But with adulthood and learning to be a functional, responsible, respectful member of society, comes more mornings. I’ve always been chronically late, a night owl, a morning-dreader. Call it CPT, optimism, or insanity, but the bottom line is that when I tell you I’m 15 minutes away I’m probably just getting in the shower.

And I’m not ok with it. In, fact, it makes me furious. BUT. I’m learning that self-love is the key to all of this. A kicked dog will never learn to sit, only to cower. (Or in my case, keep hitting snooze).

Our hearts have an unlimited capacity to love, so caring for oneself only opens you up to find more joy. There are good things about Mondays: quiet early morning light, the first chirps of tiny birds, the sense of accomplishment from a 7am work-out. There’s room for both twilight and dawn in my life. Treating myself with love and respect has helped me accept my mornings with grace. Slowly but surely, I’m becoming the kind of person who greets the sun with gratitude rather than a groan and a side-eye. Part of being a Real Adult is taking it all — the nights spent dancing and the mornings spent working — as blessings.

I’m here, alive, thriving. And learning to love both sun and moon.