I looked out my window. The evening was just departing, and the black shade of night had started to cover the entire neighborhood. A faint light through the darkness allowed me to dimly see the house on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac that touched my house. I debated whether to go on that run, or to push it off yet another day. I got dressed and decided to go.
On my nighttime run, I kept the flashlight app on my phone switched on in order to navigate through the particularly long gaps in between street lights. I started out with the sensual song “Skin” by Rihanna during my warm-up, then allowed Spotify to choose the next songs at random from my “Feel Good” list – they ended up being mellow songs, including “Bella Luna” by Jason Mraz and “Sparks” by Coldplay.
I was pleasantly surprised to jog past two couples. It made me feel safe and less alone. I guess I had expected the jog to be a risky one, and a lonely one.
It was slightly cool, to a perfectly refreshing degree. I felt so at peace, and I felt that I was receiving an unexpected sort of therapy. I knew that jogging would make me feel better (as exercise always does), but imagining something is never quite like experiencing it.
As I ran in the dark, the only things I felt that I was supposed to do were: to keep going, to be a part of this vast, black atmosphere, and to notice the shades of light that occasionally flashed in front of me. These lights were cast by the cars passing by or the dim, orange hue emitted from street lights. The only things I had to do were to notice, to be a part of the world, and to go about my way. I only had to notice, to be, to keep going.
It was perfect.