When I was little, sleep was a problem. Sleep resembled death. If I closed my eyes, would they ever open again? What if I existed only in a giant’s dream, and would vanish when he rose? Occasionally, in the wee hours, I’d wake to a silence so intense it boomed in my eardrums and shook my brain — a phenomenon known (I kid you not) as exploding-head syndrome.
As I got older, though, I forced myself to learn to sleep. Whatever the environment, I could conk out, no problem. On a futon, in a tent, in a barely reclining economy seat on a long-haul flight to the other side of the planet — all I had to do was close my eyes and shut myself down, like C-3PO in Star Wars. I sweated through mosquito-haunted nights in the Aegean, and shivered through overactive air-conditioning, huddled in a bed with strangers in Singapore. Always, I woke up rested and refreshed. Even after I had kids and became, out of necessity, a morning person, sleep was easy.
Until I hit my late 40s and it got complicated again for this Brooklyn dad. While I had no trouble falling asleep, I had trouble staying asleep: I’d wake two or three times a night for no reason, not even needing to pee. I slept too hard on my right side and threw my shoulder out of whack. Sometimes I’d wake up an hour before my alarm, my body a furnace that refused to perspire. In the mornings, leaving bed was a three-step process: sit up, breathe deeply so I wouldn’t get lightheaded, then stand, creakily. And in fact, sometimes falling asleep was tough. I started counting sheep — I’d picture them falling off a cliff and splatting into a gory pile at its base… Baa… Baaaaa…
To understand better how I sleep, or how I could sleep, over the course of a cold, dark week in January I recorded my nightly and morning routines in a sleep diary. This is, after all, what you do before talking to a doctor or sleep expert. As mapped out by the National Institutes of Health, the log would let me take a hard look not just at how I prepare for bed but at how I spend my days — how much caffeine and alcohol I consume, how much exercise I get. (Spoiler: a lot of both!) I try to live a disciplined life, but how disciplined is it, really? What would the data tell me? The revelations* are equal parts telling and for many of you reading this, probably a little annoying. Who said solid sleepers all had good habits anyway?
Night 1: Somehow I drink three glasses of wine at dinner. Granted, it’s a 12% ABV Spanish white, but still I feel ashamed marking that in my first entry. (In the past, when I’ve cut back on drinking, I’ve found it harder to fall asleep — I’m too energized!) Over the course of the day I’ve had two cups of coffee, and two teas, the last at 9 p.m., but at least I managed to go gym bouldering for an hour. I climb into bed at 10, intending to read either an old Paul Theroux book or Robert Caro’s The Power Broker, but instead I watch the remainder of The Leopard on Netflix. In the hour before sleep, I prefer shows I don’t care about. Often, I’ve watched The Walking Dead — meaningless, violent, incomprehensible. But tonight, post-Leopard, I catch an old episode of The Expanse until I realize it’s almost midnight and I need to be up at 6. I click it off, ditto the light, and am out in 10–15 minutes.
Clearly, I have a routine that is hardly aspirational — but I love it.
Nights 2–4: Multiple coffees and cups of tea every day. At least one glass of wine, sometimes as many as three whiskeys. In bed between 11:30 p.m. and 12:19 a.m. Up at 7 or 7:30 to go running or climbing for an hour or an hour and a half. Occasional brief naps in the mid-afternoon. The Expanse, The Night Manager, Fallout? At 10 p.m., when the New York Times releases the next day’s crossword, I do it right away, finishing in about twice the time it takes me to fall asleep. Clearly, I have a routine that is hardly aspirational — but I love it. Discipline lets me eat, drink, exercise, read, watch, and spend time with friends and family. Even on Night 3, when my wife and I go out to a lavish Cambodian dinner with friends, we’re cuddling in bed by midnight — though I do wake up a mysterious three times before dawn…
Night 5: A busy Sunday! Work and exercise are catching up with me. Yesterday I had a challenging 94-minute run, and today I run 5 miles outside in the slush, then climb for an hour and a half. After a shower and lunch (leftovers!), I grab a 20-minute nap before meeting my book club to discuss The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong, over bubbly, bánh mì, Bangladeshi sweets, and chocolate pecan pie. Back home for dinner (steak, potatoes, salad, Bordeaux), we then watch the latest episode of The Pitt with our teenage daughters, who are comically horrified by the erectile dysfunction scene. The day has destroyed me — and I need to take advantage of my exhaustion: I nibble a Delta-9 THC gummy, not to get high but to ensure I sleep like I’m dead, with no accidental awakenings. Somewhere in a final bedtime episode of The Expanse, the gummy kicks in, and out goes the light. I will wake eight and a half hours later — a record this week.
As I slip under the covers, I wonder how many sheep I’ll murder tonight. But I don’t wonder long — I’m out in five minutes.
Nights 6–7: I am well-rested, but more importantly, I feel well-rested. I continue running, and even squeeze in a sauna session at the gym. Reclining on the couch, I make headway in the Theroux book until my eyes close for 30 minutes. On Night 7, however, as the week looks to be wrapping up quietly, my 17-year-old daughter has a crisis: She’s applying for a $25,000 scholarship at one of the colleges she’s been accepted to, and it’s due tonight. Also, she’s busy babysitting for a neighbor. For more than two hours — time I could have spent rewatching The Expanse! — she and I text back and forth and work in a Google Doc, and by 11:35 she has produced 250 words worth submitting. My brain is on fire, not just from frustration but from active use. This happens when I write at night; despite the wine, the whiskey, the late hour, my consciousness is stuck in the goddamn on position. As I slip under the covers, I wonder how many sheep I’ll murder tonight. But I don’t wonder long — I’m out in five minutes. Dead tired wins again.
- Average daily caffeinated drinks: 2.5.
- Average daily alcoholic drinks: 2.5.
- Average daily hours slept (including naps): 7.5.
- Average time to fall asleep: 7 minutes.
*Seriously, don’t try to re-create this at home. It probably won’t work out for you.
