I had a really decent sleep last night, hence why I'm up at 8am now typing this. Truth be told, I've never been a 'morning person'. I hear so much bullshit about 'successful people wake up earlier', but time is essentially a man-made construct dating back to the days of the Gregorian calendar. It was a way for the human species to section off gaps of the day/night so we could form some kind of societal structure, based on the moon's orbit of the earth. But we all have the same amount of hours in a day to get our shit done. So if you want to wake up at 5am, and then be so knackered by 7pm, then you're snoozing on the sofa, go ahead. But please tell me how that person somehow becomes more 'successful' than the man who ends his slumber at 10am, and is still working away at his laptop come midnight?
I've always been more of the latter - if you can't tell via my impassioned defence of 'night owls' - and, following intense research on this subject over the years, I can reliably inform you that any 'motivational' or 'coaching' videos you may see on TikTok etc trying to 'train you' to overcome said pattern, are absolute gobbledygook. Being a 'night owl', or 'delayed sleep phase disorder' to give it the correct scientific name, is genetical. It all comes down to when your body produces the most creative energy, thanks to a gene titled CRY1. This all depends on your circadian rhythm (also called 'chronotype'), a biologically hardwired tendency for your brain to function most productively at certain times within a day.
Adrenaline also plays a part, I'll happily admit. Today, I'm up early on account of an early-afternoon trip to my favourite show in the West End. Likewise, awakening at 2 or 3am for those sunrise trips to Heathrow feels like no inconvenience at all, such is the rush of endorphins surging around my neuro-system, with the tantalising thought of thy final destination in mind. The 5am trip to work on a Monday, however, certainly feels a bit more flat. A journey through darkness (and often rain), and certainly not helped by the fact I've never a coffee drinker. I ignored it for close to 30 years on account of the bitter taste, but as I now trudge out of the front door looking like Oscar the Grouch (a public safety announcement should really be issued, warning civilians not to speak to me for the first two hours of those particular mornings), I'm at least boosted by a cold, black, double Americano. My partner calls me a psycho for such a breakfast, and she's probably correct.
But last night's sleep, well last night's sleep was glorious. For the past month or so, I've been experiencing the discomfort of waking up to find one particular part of my body inflamed, aching, and above all, frighteningly stiff (get your minds out of the gutter, please...) You see, my right shoulder tends to lock up during the nocturnal hours, most probably on account of my tendency to tuck my neck muscles up towards my ears like a Quarterback when sleeping. I consequently experimented fiercely through the world of pillows. Two soft? Two hard? One of each? And my perfect recipe, it would appear, is just one, of a medium firmness. This has resulted to me (on the basis of last night anyway), clinging onto the duvet in a warm and comforting cuddle motion, like a child clutching his teddy. By the time you read this, most of my day would have elapsed. But you'll find solace in the fact that, today, waking up early didn't make me more successful...
... It just made me weirder.
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