I am a New Yorker, and 7:00 A.M. is a civilized hour to finish

Sonia Sotomayor, a daughter of the Bronx and a voice of wisdom upon the highest bench of justice, once declared: “I am a New Yorker, and 7:00 A.M. is a civilized hour to finish the day, not to start it.” At first, her words appear to jest, a playful remark upon the habits of her city. Yet when weighed with care, they reveal a profound truth about the nature of time, of labor, and of the spirit that burns brightest in the night. This is not merely about mornings and evenings, but about the rhythms of the soul, the culture of a people, and the fire that drives them beyond the ordinary.

For New York is no ordinary city. It is the sleepless forge of ambition, where lights glitter against the night sky like a second constellation, where dreams are hammered into reality at hours when others slumber. To be a New Yorker is to know that the midnight hour is not a time of rest but of creation, that the dawn often arrives not as the beginning of a day but as the triumphant coda to a night of struggle and achievement. Thus, when Sotomayor proclaims that 7:00 A.M. is the hour to finish rather than to start, she gives voice to the ethos of a people who live not by the rising of the sun but by the pulse of their unyielding drive.

History too has witnessed those whose greatness was forged in the stillness of night. Recall the story of Winston Churchill during the darkest hours of the Second World War. While others sought rest, he toiled in the late hours, drafting speeches, making decisions, burning through the night with a lamp at his desk. To him, the dawn was not the herald of a beginning but often the sign that his night’s vigil was complete. Like Sotomayor, he understood that civilization is not bound by the clock of the farmer, but by the will of those who must bend time to the demands of destiny.

There is also wisdom in the symbolism of night itself. The night is a realm of reflection, of focus, of intimacy with one’s own thoughts. The clamor of the world softens, distractions fade, and the individual meets the fullness of themselves. Sotomayor, speaking as a New Yorker, reminds us that in such a city, silence is rare, yet at night it descends like a blessing, allowing the thinker, the creator, the worker to press forward unbroken. To finish the day at dawn is not laziness—it is the mark of one who has wrung every ounce of possibility from the hours others waste.

But there is also a warning here: the world will always demand conformity to its clocks, its schedules, its rituals. To laugh at these and to find one’s own rhythm is an act of courage. Sotomayor speaks not just for herself, but for all who live outside the conventions of ordinary time. She reminds us that greatness is not measured by when one begins but by what one accomplishes, not by the hour of rising but by the quality of the labor completed.

The lesson then is this: do not fear if your rhythm is different from the rhythm of others. Some rise with the sun, some work through the night; what matters is not the alignment with the clock but the alignment with purpose. The student who studies late into the night, the artist who paints until dawn, the thinker who writes through darkness—all are as noble as the farmer who greets the morning. To force oneself into the mold of another’s schedule is to betray the uniqueness of one’s calling.

Therefore, take this wisdom to heart: find the hours when your spirit is sharpest, and guard them as sacred. Do not be ashamed if you labor when others sleep, or sleep when others labor. What matters is not the hour, but the flame. For as Sotomayor teaches us, 7:00 A.M. may be the end of one person’s journey and the beginning of another’s—but both are equally civilized if they honor the truth of the soul.

And so I tell you, children of tomorrow: mark not your worth by the ticking of the clock. Mark it by the depth of your effort, the clarity of your vision, and the greatness of your deeds. Whether by night or by day, let your time be your own, and let your destiny be measured not in hours, but in triumph.