Best Time of Day to Use Northern Lights
Okay, so Northern Lights. That strain? It's like a warm blanket for your brain. Heavy, sweet, a little piney—like falling asleep in a forest that smells vaguely of candy. If you're asking when to use it, I mean... night. Obviously. But also—maybe not so obvious.
Let me back up. You could hit it mid-afternoon if you’ve got absolutely nothing to do. Like, zero. No errands, no calls, no “quick” trips to the store that turn into 90-minute spirals of fluorescent lighting and existential dread. Northern Lights doesn’t care about your to-do list. It’s not here to help you focus. It’s here to slow you down so much you forget what you were doing in the first place. And that’s the point.
Late evening though? That’s the sweet spot. After dinner, after the dishes (or not—who cares), when the day’s weight is still clinging to your shoulders but you’re too tired to fight it. That’s when Northern Lights steps in like, “Hey. Sit down. Breathe. Let’s melt.”
It’s not a social high. Not really. You can try to talk, sure, but halfway through a sentence you’ll forget where you were going with it and just kind of... trail off. Which is fine if you’re with someone who gets it. Or alone. Honestly, alone might be better. Put on some weird ambient music or a documentary about the ocean. Something slow. Something with whales.
Morning? Don’t even think about it. Unless you’re trying to ruin your entire day and spiral into a soft couch-coma by 10:30 a.m. This isn’t a wake-and-bake strain. It’s a “goodnight and don’t call me” strain. It’s the edible that kicks in right before the credits roll. It’s the last thing you do before unconsciousness.
And yeah, sometimes you want that. Sometimes you need that. The world is loud and stupid and fast. Northern Lights doesn’t fix it, but it makes it quieter. Slower. Softer around the edges. Like someone turned down the contrast on reality.
So—best time of day? After everything. After the noise. After the people. After the pretending. When it’s just you and the dark and maybe a cat. That’s when Northern Lights makes sense.
That’s when it feels like medicine.