Society lives by the Sun. As the rays trickle through the blinds, we rise, down a coffee or four, take kids to school, manage 9-5 jobs — absorbing sunny fuel as we go. But there’s a subset of people, like myself, who are optimal under the light of the Moon. Call us “lunatics”. Not in the politically incorrect sense, but like the citizens of the past without roofs who were kept awake due to the intensity of moonlight.
It’s a known fact that tides are affected under each phase of the Moon. Though the tidal shift is considered minor, it still occurs, and some people are more sensitive to the change than others. Could this natural phenomenon actually “hold water” in studies of mental health?
I’ve woken up many mornings – mad, confused and self-pitying for feeling lonely and misunderstood. If I willed it, the mood stretched into my evenings, contaminating every hour like a flooded storm sewer.
Until one afternoon, I decided to take a scalding hot shower. For 45 minutes, nothing mattered; I disregarded the people around me, the plagues of past decisions, the impending hydro bill, everything. The only relevant concern in my steam-filled box was the projectile water setting against my thinning skin. Once I reluctantly returned to reality and stepped out, the funk of sadness still lingered, but was noticeably diminished.
In the midst of a social media stalking blitz, I impulsively flicked off the computer switch. The Sun began to set, and I decided I’d rather be productive than ruminate for the latter half of my day. Send the ball rolling. Started by chugging a bottle of water, which flowed into a banking consultation, a shopping excursion, a brief meeting with an old friend, and more water throughout.
Here’s my very urgent observation: mood and hydration must be related. It seemed the more I drank, the more productive I became. It’s not that I was motivated to run errands; I felt a compulsion to fulfill them. A fresh life force within me needed places to travel, and I was merely a vessel.
Our bodies are intricate harnessers of energy. We absorb energy better than any other species, in fact. Shouldn’t it be, then, that each of us has a favoured source of energy? It’s undeniable we all need sunlight and water to survive, but while some of us are “solar-panelled”, many others are “hydraulic”. No one would park a submarine in a desert, just as they wouldn’t bring a calculator into a bathtub. How, I wonder, can a lunatic possibly thrive in a parched ecosystem?