I saw a program on TV about the business of “sleep.” Apparently, we are a nation of sleep-deprived people, a condition that has spawned an industry to address that. Our choices are many, as long as money is no object. There were special beds priced from $7,000 to $100, 000. Yes: a one hundred thousand dollar bed. There are also special pillows and even a sleep spa, where you get the privilege of paying $1 per minute for up to 40 minutes of nap time. The Benjamin Hotel (an ironic name) has a “sleep program” with a “sleep concierge.”
When I was a student in art school, I was also a full-time employee at a psychiatric hospital. I worked the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift at the hospital, then attended school from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. My apartment was a one hour bus ride from school, and I arrived home at about 5:15. I slept, awoke at 10 p.m. to get to work by 11 p.m. I averaged four hours of sleep per night, at home, though I managed to sneak in a few extra “Zs” on the job. I thought I handled that era of my life pretty well, but years later, a friend told me that I was a mess, and would fall asleep if I stopped moving for long. Someone in a position to know told me recently that I did not seem to sleep much. I used to party with my two friends until 3 a.m., and awake them at 6 a.m., singing and frying eggs. I still wake early, though I utilize a device that Charlie Rose recommended: a nap.
When I was the assistant creative director in the advertising department at Famous-Barr in St. Louis, I had a sizeable office, next door to the senior vice-president. He liked having me near him for fast access and swift problem resolution. I was always in the department early, often before the SVP, and I frequently ate lunch in my office. The advantage of a door allowed me to close it and sit in my plush office chair, cross my arms over my chest, lower my chin, and sleep. The copy director, who reviewed the scripts to be submitted to radio stations, would give her edits to the SVP’s secretary. She knew — perhaps everyone knew — that I was “asleep at the chair,” and would knock on my door if it stayed closed for too long. I would wake up and work until everyone was gone.
I am no longer challenged on a daily basis to be at a certain place at a certain time, but I still like to rise early. The idea that sunshine is galloping by without me bothers me. I respond to the circadian rhythms, the “physical, mental and behavioral changes that follow a roughly 24-hour cycle, responding primarily to light and darkness,” according to the National Institute of Health’s National Institute of General Medical Sciences. When the sun comes up and the birds start to screech, I rise to plot my nap-time. When I visit my friend in Southern Indiana, I sleep in a bedroom in the basement that has no windows; with the door closed, I cannot see the dawning of the day, and I always oversleep.
Some medical personnel find the sleep industry to be unnecessary and even deceitful. More daily exercise and fewer electronic devices by the bed can be better aids to sleep than $100,000 beds. Take a brisk walk, then do what I do, and get what my eldest child calls “an old man nap.”