The question I get asked the most as a new resident of Lapland is how I manage to cope in the midst of darkness. Strangely enough, I was asked this a lot on Instagram even during the summer, right after the end of the midnight sun. There was still plenty of light here long after the midnight sun ended, more than in the south. It wasn't until the autumn equinox that we, the northern inhabitants, relinquished our reign over the light and had to adapt to the diminishing amount of it.

At the moment, I admit it is dark. It has rained almost every day over the past week. This has melted away the last remnants of snow. The black earth absorbs all the light, and the dark sky, which has lost even the slightest bit of light, emphasizes the prevailing darkness for nearly the entire day. If the weather is foggy and rainy, even the morning doesn’t brighten up much, surrendering instead to a dull gray hue that lingers.

In the midst of darkness and grayness, everyone copes in their own way. Some create a cozy nest at home, like a bear, burying themselves in blankets and the warmth of the fireplace, surrounding themselves with comforts and enjoyable indoor activities. Others seek alternative sources of light, lighting candles and electric ambient lights while the sun mainly vacations in the southern hemisphere, leaving us northern folks to rely on our own luck.

I personally practice both. I go through more candles than I care to admit, lighting them in the mornings and evenings during the dim moments to bring light and life into the indoors. The fireplace fire is like the big brother of the candles. It takes care of the cabin’s heating and brings much-needed light to the dark walls of the cabin with its calm glow.

With these methods, one can get quite far.

I enjoy being at home and indoors, but I need fresh air. Especially after moving north, I’ve realized I can’t stay indoors all day without losing my sanity (how did I manage that skill in the city?). I long to be outside, feeling the wind and the rain if there’s nothing else on offer.

When the sun is absent, other sources of light in nature step in. The moon and the immense, deep starry sky. The last remnants of daylight against the silhouette of the fells. The warmth of the fireplace and its living, dancing light playing in the shadows.

And the northern lights—they are the most magical of the northern lights. When the auroras fill the sky, no other light is needed. Shades of green and red illuminate even the darkest corners of the soul. The enchanting light and atmosphere linger long after they fade. I have seen the northern lights before, but I never would have believed the kind of ambiance they can create when they shine across the entire northern sky, moving like living beings, undulating and curling from one horizon to another. In the light of the auroras, all darkness is forgotten.

The northern lights illuminate the entire sky in Lapland amidst all the other darkness.

Struggling with darkness is made a bit easier by the fact that this is a shared suffering. There is no snow anywhere else, and the darkness is equally deep and all-consuming elsewhere—especially here in the north, along the banks of the Muonio River.

Yesterday, my breakfast was interrupted when I noticed the first rays of the rising sun shining through the window. The sun hasn’t shown itself through the gray sky for at least a week, so even its brief appearance must be greeted with reverence. I left my breakfast to cool on the table and headed to my favorite spot by the river to greet my friend the sun and enjoy its at least mentally warming rays.