The snooze bar

Early in my career, I landed a coveted university job that came with a cozy on-campus apartment in a dorm, which, I grant you, may not sound enticing. But the perk was offered by Roger Williams University, which perches above the Mount Hope Bay in Bristol, Rhode Island. Through my picture windows, I delighted in million-dollar views of the sparkling bay through the tree line. Residing in a dorm engenders drawbacks, though, including occasionally having to address student disruptions late into the night.

One morning, after one of those long nights, I hit the snooze bar and, without even getting out of bed, called our administrative assistant to let her know I would be coming to the office late. I was still snuggled under covers when I got a call from Terry who seemed worried that I hadn’t yet arrived. I said something along the lines of “I’m sleeping in a bit; I told you that when I talked to you earlier.” She said “ok; I’ll see you soon then” – in an oddly hesitant tone. As I lay awake contemplating hitting the shower, it dawned on me that the phone, when I answered it, was not in the same place it was when I had called in my late start. I sat up and rang Terry back. “I never talked to you about coming in late, did I,” and she laughed and said “no, you did not.” I had dreamt the entire episode.

Thus is one of the perils of a lifelong dependence on the snooze bar. I readily admit to routinely hitting snooze a half dozen times and often set a second alarm out of reach if I am worried about getting up on time. I have incorporated the sound of the alarm into my dreams rather than wake up to shut it off. I have slept through the entire hour of allotted snooze time without noticing that I’m hitting that bar with abandon. I have bargained with myself about which aspect of the morning routine to skip in order to get nine more minutes of sleep.

Yes, I know snoozing between alarms probably isn’t the most restful strategy; I’m interrupting my sleep cycle, spiking my stress levels, and getting crankier with each trip of the alarm. Yet still, the snooze bar remains in my estimation a most marvelous invention for us not-a-morning-person people.

I’ve lived my whole life fully aware of the differences between morning people (early larks) and evening people (night owls), and it’s an easy call what bird I am. Larks get out of bed raring to go, challenge themselves to a run or gym session before breakfast, and arrive chipper to early morning meetings. They’re primed to debate options and solve problems before lunch, but drag by late afternoon. They appreciate leisurely evenings and tuck themselves in bed well before 10 pm. Night people have to be prompted to get up (if not by others, then by an annoying alarm). Their energies, their creativity, their analysis skills, all peak much later in the day. They’re all-in for getting projects done after dinner, or to socialize until well after the stars come out.

Scientists tell us that affinity for morning or evening distributes on a bell curve (small percentage at the edges, the vast majority in the middle). On the Morningness-Eveningness Questionaire (a popular research tool), I scored in the “moderate evening” category, which kind-of surprised me, but I guess there are night owls up much later than I am, some even quite nocturnal.  

According to cycadean rhythm research, morning people are characterized as introverted, conscientious, agreeable and emotionally stable; they’re happier and more successful. Night people garner descriptors like extroverted, open-minded, and smart (higher cognitive functioning), but they are also more likely to be narcissistic, psychopathic, and impulsive. Owls get bad news on the medical report as well; the eveningness type is linked to depression, addictive behaviors, and other mental health problems, and night owls tend to die younger.

I suspect that trying to mask our identity as night owls exacerbates all these negative outcomes. Sleep researcher Dr. Kristen Knutson concurred to a degree, “Trying to be a night owl in a morning lark world can affect how you sleep, how you eat, and how you exercise — all things we know can affect mood and overall health.”  Her recommendation is to try to align with your natural rhythms, but the world seems to have a lot of morning-hour demands.

We not-a-morning-person people live out of step with the routines of work hours (and school hours, but I’m long past that problem). We suffer “social jet lag,” that odd dissociative feeling of being a step behind because our preferred sleep and awake patterns are not well accommodated. In my experience, corporate world norms favored morning people: 8 am meetings were commonplace; 4 pm meetings, frowned upon; 7 am emails were not noticed, but 11 pm messages drew sarcastic commentary. It felt more acceptable to come in early to work on a project than to stay late the night before. Morning people seemed to be perceived as go-getters, late night people, as inefficient.

If indeed most people don’t fall on the far morningness end of the bell curve, then why do we feel so much pressure to conform to the schedule of the larks? We’re told “the early bird gets the worm,” and that “early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” Where are the proverbs giving accolades to the night people?

As a night owl, I’ve found ways to adjust to morning lark expectations. I force myself to go to bed earlier than I like to be able to wake earlier than I like. Taking my shower first thing combats the grogginess of a too-early rise. I complete as many morning ritual tasks as possible the night before: putting my lunch bag together, selecting my wardrobe, packing things in the car (or gathering them at the door) – all so I can shave as many minutes as possible off the time needed to be ready to go for the day. And I make liberal use of the snooze bar to give myself a slower wake-up routine.

For those brutal early-morning commutes, I found places I could pull off to rest my eyes for a few minutes when necessary. The night owl gods shone on me when several of my roles allowed me to switch up my start time to 10 or 11 am; I never minded the later end times as I could work in quiet after most other people went home, and I didn’t have to deal with the evening rush on the highways. When I started my own consulting practice, I kept off-beat hours, rarely starting before 10 am (despite the much shorter across-the-hallway commute), and often working until 10 or 11 at night after having taken part of the day for errands or long walks in nature. Mind you, in indulging my night owl ways, I haven’t had to worry about schedules of spouse or children; I have managed my time with only myself to consider.

I feel it’s more natural to wake up well after the sun comes up. I encounter fewer crowds during later meal times and the final hour before store closings. The dark of night beckons to me as quiet time for deep thinking work. My energy for housecleaning and baking is brought to bear later in the evening. And there’s nothing better than curling up with a good book with hours of uninterrupted time to indulge.

I imagine that larks experience the flip side of the annoyances I’ve mentioned. Their bounce-out-of-bed energy may be met with eye rolls. They go hungry in late morning while waiting for the standard lunch hour to tick up. Housemates may keep them up by reading and watching TV when they are trying to get to sleep. They miss out on night life and may wonder why socializing can’t be organized for more civilized times of day. Their accommodations may well mirror mine: cherishing unpopulated venues in the mornings and having high energy to expend before the work day.

It seems diversity in cycadean rhythm is another arena in which we could all learn to give each other grace to be who we are. I’m happy to report that the loose structure of retired life provides that freedom.

I have at last turned off my morning alarms and self-imposed bedtime to let my internal clock do its thing. Turns out, I’m naturally more of a 9 am to 1:30 am kind of gal, and allowing myself to live within those hours has been glorious! I’m gifting myself slow mornings: leisurely routine, simple breakfast, reading on the balcony.  I’m also changing my typical meal times: moving lunch to 1-2 pm and dinner to 7:30 – 8:30 pm (how Mediterranean!). I dedicate more of my prime hours to the absorbing challenges of writing. And I’m working on reserving late evening time for reading or cross-stitching or walking, staying off the computer.

It’s possible that I’ll morph slowly into a lark as I age; there are some indicators that may be the norm. But for now, I’m loving the more consistently owl-like rhythms of my life these days – and I’m retiring my snooze bar.