The Dawn of My Downfall (aka Why I Love Sleep)
Let me set the scene: It’s 6:00 AM. Birds are chirping. The sun is (ugh) rising. And I’m sprawled on my kitchen floor, desperately trying to convince myself that the lukewarm coffee I’m about to ingest will magically transform me into the kind of person who greets the day with open arms and a spring in their step. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
You see, I’m what you might call a “naturally nocturnal being.” My peak creative hours hit somewhere between midnight and that time your responsible friends are already posting pictures of their avocado toast on Instagram. The thought of becoming a morning person, of bounding out of bed at an hour most college students would consider “ungodly,” filled me with a special kind of dread usually reserved for dentist appointments and empty coffee machines.
But then came the siren song of productivity gurus and their promises of early-morning bliss. “Wake up before the sun! Conquer your day! Be more like Beyoncé!” they crooned. And like a sleep-deprived moth to a very perky flame, I was lured in.
My transformation began innocently enough. I downloaded a meditation app that promised to “awaken my inner sunshine.” I invested in a sunrise alarm clock that sounded suspiciously like a choir of angry angels. I even attempted a morning jog, which ended with me wheezing my way back home, convinced that my lungs were plotting a mutiny.
The results were… underwhelming, to say the least. My meditation sessions were mostly spent mentally composing strongly worded letters to the makers of my very loud alarm clock. My attempts at a healthy breakfast usually devolved into me shoveling cereal into my mouth while simultaneously searching for my keys and phone.
The worst part? I wasn’t even productive. I stumbled through my mornings in a caffeine-fueled haze, accomplishing the impressive feat of achieving absolutely nothing before noon.
Embracing My Inner Night Owl (and Saying Goodbye to Early Mornings)
The turning point came when I nearly put my shirt on backwards during one of my early-morning stupors. Standing in my bedroom, half-dressed and thoroughly demoralized, I had an epiphany: this wasn’t me. This forced cheerfulness, this relentless pursuit of morning productivity, it just wasn’t who I was.
So, I did the unthinkable: I surrendered. I embraced my inner night owl. I traded my sunrise alarm for a playlist of soothing whale noises (much less jarring, let me tell you). I accepted the fact that my most productive hours happened to coincide with when most bakeries were closed (a tragedy, I know).