City lights and sleepless nights
The city never sleeps, and it seems that we don’t either. There’s something undeniably captivating about city lights. They twinkle in the distance like stars we built ourselves. They make the night feel alive, buzzing with possibility. People write songs about them. Take pictures of them. Chase dreams beneath them. But for all their glow and glamour, city lights come at a cost, one we rarely stop to notice.
We were not meant to live in constant light.
Our bodies are ancient. Long before screens, streetlamps, and skyscrapers, we lived by the sun and slept by the moon. Darkness was the signal that the day had ended, and that rest was not only allowed, but necessary. Our brains responded to the setting sun like clockwork, melatonin rising, thoughts slowing, the body preparing to surrender to sleep. But in the city, night never truly arrives. Even at midnight it’s never quite dark. There’s a faint orange haze in the sky, the hum of light bouncing between buildings, the sharp glow of signs, windows, and car headlights. Even the spaces meant for rest, our bedrooms are invaded by it. Light leaking through the blinds. The constant flicker of devices charging on the nightstand. A world that stays on, even when we desperately need it to turn off. Light pollution.
And so we lie awake. Tired, but wired. Eyes heavy, but thoughts racing. Our bodies want sleep, but our surroundings don’t allow it. We tell ourselves we’re stressed, or overthinking, or addicted to our phones. And maybe we are. But maybe we’re also just trying to rest in a world that won’t go dark. This isn’t a personal problem, it’s a collective one. Light pollution is a global issue, but in cities, it’s magnified. Billions of dollars are spent every year keeping the night artificially bright. Streetlights stay on when no one’s around. Stormfronts shine through the early hours, even when closed. Entire buildings glow from the inside out, long after their offices have emptied. And somewhere beneath the artificial daylight, millions of people are lying awake, wondering why they can’t find peace.
The truth is, our biological rhythms are deeply sensitive to light. When the world stays lit, our bodies stay confused. We sleep less. We sleep poorly. We wake up exhausted. And then we wonder why we feel so burnt out, irritable and disconnected. But it’s not just sleep we’re losing. It’s the sanctuary of night itself. Night use to mean quiet. A time to reflect. A time to slow down. It was a boundary that told us: you’ve done enough, now rest. Now, it just means more hours, more time to scroll, to work, to worry. The dark used to be a friend. Now it’s a backdrop for 24/7 activity.
So what do we do? Do we abandon the cities? No. But we can rethink how we light them. We can use softer lights. We can install timers and dimmers. We can turn off what doesn’t need to be on. Do you know how much money that would save our country? We can protect our bedrooms from invasive brightness with blackout curtains, no glowing electronics, and evening rituals that gently invite rest. And most of all, we can start to reclaim darkness as something sacred, not something to be feared or avoided, but something to be honored. Because night isn’t the enemy. It’s the necessary exhale at the end of a long breath. City lights may be beautiful. But so is sleep. So is silence. So is darkness that lets us rest, dream and begin again. Maybe it’s time to let the night be night again.
