By this time in the evening, I am super excited that I get to go to bed. This was not always the case, because when I was young, I (clearly unlike every other normal child in the world) felt I was missing out when I was packed off to bed at approximately 4:30 pm. This may be a mild exaggeration, but I do remember still hearing my friends playing outside, while I scrunched my eyes shut in an effort to keep the still-shining daylight from streaming into my wide-awake eyes.
Now, it’s a different story. I LOVE going to bed. Sleep is awesome. I function best on somewhere between 7â€“8 hours per night. I made it through my entire MBA convinced that I was one of that rare breed that needs only 5â€“6 hours to get by at peak performance. It’s amazing what your mind can convince your body of, when it needs to get tricky. Shortly after defending my thesis, I began to wonder why I was so upset and angry/sad all the time.
I began The Great Sleep Experiment, in which I got no less than 7 hours sleep and discovered many things about myself. One of the key learnings was that I cry way less, about far fewer things, when I’m getting adequate sleep. Life, it turns out, was secretly being awesome, but I’d been too sleep-deprived to realize.
Now, I put sleep first. Sometimes, it means I miss my morning exercise, which sucks and makes me resentful, but at least I have a good reminder to hit the sack earlier the next night. I’ve said this before, but if Bridesmaids taught me anything (and I was just as shocked to learn it had as you are, reading this), it was that I am indeed my own problem, and my own solution.
Which leads me to my next point: I should really not save my blogging until I am about to go to bed. I’m gonna try something different tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes…