I’ve long held the belief that a punctuated slumber’s no good.
Like a comma splice in an otherwise serene sentence of endless Z’s.
But newer research is calling that logic into question. And asking a question of its own: is a fragmented sleep so bad? Or is it simply segmented because it’s mean to be? Indeed, the uncovering of historical data is showing that mayhaps waking at the witching hour’s not so abnormal. In fact, what’s making us miserable isn’t the fact that we can’t get back to sleep – but that we’re trying to.
“In all fairness, maybe if I took this clock out of my hair I’d sleep a bit better…”
See, this dude Roger Ekirch (a historian) studied some records dating from ancient times up through the pre-industrial era. And he learned this: Folks closer to the roots of our genealogical trees didn’t sleep straight through the eves back before iphones and episodes of “The Bachelor” could keep them up. Instead, they’d do a sleep sammich. After heading to bed somewhere around sunset, they’d doze for a few hours, wake up for a few, and then go back to bed again for another few. Thing is – when our ancestors woke up at midnight or whenever, they wouldn’t toss and turn and damn the sandman for fragmenting their sleep. They’d get their azzes up do something productive – like pray, screw, or socialize with the neighbors.
Or get to all that artsy shiz you “don’t have time for” by day:
“♪I wonder if Staaarbucks is opeeeen…♪”
Protip Avoid caffeine. (Because: duh – you’re going back to bed in a few.)
And blue light activities. (Because: melatonin disruption.)
When we do that former thing, fitfully pinwheeling on the mattress, it’s no better than those mornings you spend languishing in bed ’cause you’re dreading something you have to do. Where your mental energy goes sets the tone for whatever comes next. Whether that’s sleep or meeting. Argument? The fact that most people report feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed on mornings they’ve got something they either look forward to – or know they need to bring their A game for. It’s all about the anticipation. And, in a way, anxiety and anticipation aren’t that distant of cousins. If we can just 180 that negativity part of stress (presumably about falling back asleep), then what’s it turn into? Excitement. That’s when you wake up to draw or write or polish off a project for a few hours, and then hop back in the sack, basking in that feeling you get after any day that’s ended fulfillingly.
And this doesn’t necessarily counter what every other study’s had to say about sleep.
First off, they do say that the brain works harder when we’re asleep than when we’re awake. It’s organizing the day’s data and sorting memories and all that. So, maybe, this spontaneous rise ‘n shine rooster sounding off in your skull’s accounting for that. I mean, if your think meat’s working so hard, it could just be that this wake up call’s nor more than your brain blowing the factory lunch break whistle.
The message is: wake up, do something humans do, and then let’s reconvene at 3-ish.
Then, there’s the “90 minute” rule, too – which still applies here.
See, there’s this belief that it takes an hour and a half to get through a full cycle of snoozery – and that we thus must make wake up O’ clock be some factor of exactly 90 minutes. To catch shut eye for two’a those cycles, wake up, rinse, and repeat would be following this logic exactly. You’re just not knocking all those hours out in a row – which science says is fine. What’s not fine? Getting frenzied over the fact that you’re not adhering to what you’ve heard is the right thing to do. (Like, how to sleep.) And I think most’ve us are at fault for doing this. We don’t tune into our somatic radio signals enough. We’re ready to heed whatever advice some stranger has to say about health and well being. (Case in point: you, here, now – reading what I hafta say.) And then, when it doesn’t jibe with us, we judge ourselves about it and get mad at our bodies for not complying with our minds’ will. This leads to stress. Which is not only completely counterproductive to relaxing enough to zonk out, but a negative tone-setter for the day ahead. And, ultimately, our lives. How many times have you lamented this fissure in your drift-off hours? Or let it put you in a downcast mood the next day? What if you started putting it to use – and telling everyone how much awesomery you accomplished while they were drooling into their linens? In a way, you’re not the one missing out on anything. Everyone else is missing out on all those hobbies they don’t get to do ’cause they spend a consecutive stretch of seven hours each day being comforter wrapped conformists. You’re not at a loss. You’ve got it all. You both work and cultivate your artistic passions. Pshhh. This isn’t a sickness. This is a gift.
Thus, in the end, perhaps segmented sleep’s less like a comma splice.
And more like a productivity semicolon interjected to afford you a few extra hours in your day.
I suppose it all depends on which way you’re looking at the rest of your story.