I Dream of Sleeping

I used to feel a sort of pride about sleeping very little. Like the cigarette perched casually between your fingers, running on little to no sleep affords a sense of being edgy and cool that is, ultimately, unhealthy. In college, all-nighters were a fact of life and a badge of honor. They went hand-in-hand with my war stories of procrastination: beginning essays at midnight that were due the next day, or the time I started studying for an 8am final at 4am.

And I would never, ever nap. I couldn’t understand people who would nap. What if something incredible happened in the meantime? That was my nightmare—that I would take a nap or go to sleep early, and upon awaking, would realize that I had missed a great experience. Or even a bad one. I didn’t want a miss a thing, and I eventually learned the idiom for this anxiety: FOMO—fear of missing out. (“But what if the thing you’re missing out on is the nap?” once retorted a good friend.)

Shabbos and the rhythm of that delicious day turned me around on napping, but I remained a night owl in general—because of FOMO, because of compulsive internet surfing and chatting with people, because of my unnaturally high levels of energy, because I have a laptop that I took into bed with me.  There would be a dull sense of defeat every night when I finally unplugged and set my alarm… for seven, six, and often five hours of sleep. I would regularly stay up until 1, 2, 3, even 4 in the morning for no real reason at all. I felt that it didn’t matter too much, though, because I’m so good at operating without much sleep.

But I’m not. Not lately, anyway. I feel drained at the end of the day. One of my new mottos has been “be nice to yourself”—which has meant eating regular meals, including breakfast; not beating myself up mentally for various and sundry missteps; buying things; and now, finally, trying to get the sleep my body so desperately needs. I’m tired, and I’ve been tired for a long time. I’m tired of being tired. I’m over FOMO. Like my friend said years ago, the incredible thing I’ve been missing out on is the sleep itself.

I recently gave myself a curfew. I try to unplug by 11pm, and be in bed by midnight. Between 11 and 12, I can do whatever I like, as long as it’s not futz around online: take a shower, journal, listen to music. Two nights ago I fell asleep around 11:15. This is—as those who know me personally can attest—unheard of. This is the most boring, grown-up resolution I’ve taken on in a long time. I am so proud.

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