A Race Against Time
Towards the end of my final year at university, I made a discovery. To those who are asleep with the lights out before 10 p.m., this discovery probably constitutes heresy but for me it worked. In short, I chose to become a nocturnal animal. I was in a race against time, with the deadline for my most important academic work in my educational career – my Sociology dissertation – mercilessly approaching. To combat this, I started staying up until the small hours of the morning and it had a big impact. Strangely, it was only during these hours that I felt I could decant the pregnant Sociological thoughts that were never more than half-formed in my mind on the socially acceptable side of midnight.
The following is a detailed account of what I learned. Disclaimer: adopt this course of action at your peril. There is no guarantee that it won’t end in catastrophe for you, despite the miracle results it delivered for me.
Inveigled by the Small Hours
The patterns of our sleep dictate the rhythms of our lives. So, it’s not surprising that any asymmetries or disruptions in our sleeping patterns can lead to disjointed rhythms governing our lives. Worse still, in some instances, it can render them totally arrhythmic. The general consensus is that only a certain kind of routine makes for a happy groove, through which a balanced, productive lifestyle can be sustained.
Being aware of these facts but heedless of them, and increasingly addled by my undergraduate dissertation, I began experimenting. Gripped by writer’s block and an impassable sense of inertia whenever I contorted myself into a chair before my laptop to confront the Great Beast, I started to believe that the conditions of the world around me were the real problem.
I had to believe this because in my state of itching desperation and inactivity, it appeared more reasonable to expect the world to change in my favour than my work ethic. It was around this time that I was inveigled by the small hours. It was around this time that I succumbed to the changed world that the nighttime could provide me with.
In retrospect, I realise that this was not deliberate, it was a strategy I was moved towards by the subconscious. I had little power over what happened, I can only be grateful that it did.
Disrupting the Pattern
I began working later and later or earlier and earlier, depending on your perspective (I found a new one). The night shifts dragged on until four, five, sometimes six a.m. You see, there is something creatively stultifying about the daytime. You can’t help but compare yourself to the happy, busy, self-possessed people milling all around you. A day in a library can become quite a competitive sport as soon as you start to recognise that others are just wired for diligence and you, perhaps, just aren’t.
This induces panic and a debilitating anxiety soon sets in like cement. Others seem to stride purposefully towards their destination, whereas you remain stationary. You feel like a car with no motor or a crashed one wrapped round a lamppost, depending on what side of bed you got out of. Before you know it, you’re paralysed and looking for the nearest excuse you can make to yourself as justification for a five-minute break that then turns into an hour, as you pathologically begin laps of the university campus searching for distraction, all the while haunted by the Great Beast you think you’re temporarily escaping the clutches of.
However, the small hours offer tranquil reprieve from all that discombobulating and fraught bustle. All the happy, busy, diligent, self-possessed people are sound asleep. Meanwhile, you get ahead. You, at last, can gain the upper hand.
Shattering the Illusion
Once I overcame the first few nights of somnolence, I was able to work in peace. No external stimuli interrupting my thought processes. No interference with how I channelled my attention. On a good night, I could do a thousand words – good ones, too. I completed the kind of work that I never felt the need to agonise over, edit or regret at a later time. The daytime was spent sleeping and evenings became my preparation for the serenity of the small hours.
Eventually, I had cut loose altogether from the waking world. I had successfully carved out a space free from comparisons to my peers and their clockwork, regimented ways that made me feel so inferior. Then came the time to submit the dissertation – a surprisingly painless experience in the end; no anaesthetic required after clicking the button. Months later, I am informed that I have been awarded a first class honours grade. There was my proof: staying up until the small hours does have a big impact. That said, as soon as I had written the dissertation, I did revert to normalcy. I was quick to reassume my position among the herd within the cosy perimeter of the common sleeping schedule. Still, It’s a comfort to have shattered the illusion that an early night is a sine qua non of mental stability.
The Lessons Learned
I will now always have an extreme, yet effective, method of relieving the pressure when the next Great Beast of a project inevitably comes to squeeze my skull. It is like having my own secret safety valve with the label – “To Be Used in Case of Emergency.”
When all around you is at rest, it is easy to manipulate your own mind and focus it on what you need to. Your agency is restored and you alone are in control. There is nothing else to do, nowhere else to go. No temptations to fend off. For me, it really did work. But, before you try it for yourself, let me refer you to my disclaimer for a second time.
Words by Patrick O’Donoghue
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