When the night is dark and quiet, my open heart expects a miracle

There are two men who live inside me.

One man is the most rational person you know. He’s deeply logical and focused on objective reality. Just the facts. This man wants to have his affairs in order and live in ways he can be proud of. He wants to be a good man above all.

But there’s another man inside of me, too. That man is deeply emotional. He believes in magic. He trusts his intuition. He values love and connection above all. He would do anything for the right kind of love.

There are times when the hyper-rational man is in charge. He gets a lot of things done. He’s hard-working and he’s capable. Many people admire him for being smart and reasonable.

But there are times when my heart is open and there seems to be a portal open to some sort of fantastic world of wonder instead. And when that man is in charge, he feels like taking risks and making magic happen — if he just knew which magical words to say.

He’s waiting for something inexplicable to happen. Any moment now.

It’s not like being Jekyll and Hyde. It’s not like being bipolar. It’s more like being Mr. Day and Mr. Night, twins who share my brain. During the day, the hyper-rational man calls the shots. But when it’s dark — especially in the wee hours of the morning and everything’s quiet — it’s Mr. Night who takes over.

And that emotional man is waiting for some sort of magic to happen any moment — something he can’t even name.

Mr. Night keeps me awake.

Even when I try to get to sleep early — as I have for the past few nights — I still end up awake at 3 in the morning resisting sleep. I usually have the vague sense that if I just stay awake a few more minutes — or another hour or whatever — I’ll finally find something vital that’s always just barely out of my grasp.

It always feels as though I’m looking for something just below the surface of consciousness — and some part of me believes it will show up any moment now.

What is Mr. Night waiting for? I can’t say. Not exactly.

Maybe it’s an email from someone out of the past. Maybe it’s a wildly unexpected phone call from someone I haven’t met yet, someone who’s fallen in love with me. Maybe it’s an invitation to be part of something exciting that might change my life.

To the hyper-rational man, all of this is nonsense. Of course none of those things are going to happen. There’s nobody out there thinking about me that I don’t know about. Nobody has noticed me and wants me to be part of some big project. There’s nobody who has the irrational notion of wanting to love me.

Even Mr. Night knows that these things — and even more fantastical things that he’s afraid to name clearly — are in the realm of pure fantasy. He knows they’re not going to happen. He knows they don’t make sense. He knows that when the light of morning comes, the rational man will laugh at him and ridicule his naivety.

But Mr. Night believes anyway. He keeps expecting a miracle. His heart beats a little faster as he asks himself whether this might be the day when the impossible shows up in his life.

We like to believe we are fully integrated creatures with one unitary voice in command, but I know that isn’t true.

I know it isn’t true because science tells me so. (If you really want to know the science behind the parts of our minds that compete for inner control — and which sometimes can’t even communicate with one another — read “Why Everyone (Else) is a Hypocrite,” from Princeton University Press.) But I also know there’s no unitary voice in charge because Mr. Day and Mr. Night live inside my head.

In another eight hours or so, the rational man will be in charge again. I’ll be back to acting like the completely logical and pragmatic man who most people know me to be. He’s steady and he’s reliable.

But for now, the night is dark and everything is silent.

The portal to possibility is open. All things seem possible. And without really even wanting to, I’m waiting for some sort of magic.

I’m waiting — and hoping — for something to happen. Something I can’t even name.