For as long as I can remember, I’ve always hated overhead lights. They’ve always seemed insulting to me. Their all-encompassing blue or orange glow makes the rest of the colors in the room look duller, less organic, and almost as insulting as the overhead light itself. Because of this, I’ve always favored teachers who used light sources other than the sterile, bright rectangles that highlighted the grease on the desks. Additionally, I put up Christmas lights in my room and a standing lamp by my bed because the light on my fan is the most atrocious overhead light of all overhead lights. And whenever I can, I open my blinds and choose natural light instead.

I never fully knew why I had this quirk until ninth period on Friday, the warmest and sunniest day of the year so far. I hadn’t seen the majority of my peers smile with their eyes in a few months, and when I watched everyone walk into the classroom, their faces lit up (metaphorically and literally). The light coming into the normally dreary room was almost blinding. We were recharged. The colors of the posters on the walls were more vivid, the laughter was more organic, and the room had life again. “That’s why!” I thought. “I don’t like overhead lights because they’re a reminder of the dim overhead light in the sky.”

In our dreary and seemingly never-ending Cleveland winters, I don’t have control over the amount of natural light I get, and all I want during Cleveland winters is to feel the comfort the sun brings. As long as I live in a place with six-month-long winters, I’ll continue to attempt to make my environment indoors as close to recharging as it can be.