It is Saturday night and I have just come home from my friend’s house where I drank tea and chatting shit for hours (my perfect evening these days. Gone are the days of all-nighters in heels I couldn’t walk in, booze I couldn’t keep in and clubs nobody wanted to be in!)
I have an early start tomorrow. Who schedules a 9am meeting for a Sunday morning? Well, me apparently! Working for yourself isn’t always glamorous. In fact, it’s mostly hard work and dedication and rocking up when no one else is looking or cares. No one really sees that bit though. Us entrepreneurs like to take selfies in front of pools we don’t own and cars we don’t drive so you think we just manifested shit like magic. Now please buy my product or service so I can show you how to do the same thing.
Anyway, that’s a different tangent for a different blog and a different time. Back to Saturday night.
I walked through my front door, turned on the light, poured some water and farted around for a bit like you do.
And then, I opened my bedroom door only to see something so devastating I almost cried.
My mind whirred back in time to that morning and I saw myself stand at the foot of my unmade bed in contemplation. Yep, I’d consciously made the decision to ‘do it later’. Fool.
Roger’s voice (Roger is my Dad) echoed in my ears.
“The first thing you do, is make the bed.”
These had been his words of wisdom when I first moved out of home at 17 years old. I was tits deep in boxes, larva lamps and Metallica CD’s, and he offered me this piece of advice like it was worth something.
“The first thing you do, is make your bed. Don’t unpack anything, until you’ve made your bed. Then, whatever happens, you can always get into bed.”
Because I was 17, I knew everything so I dismissed Roger’s advice and busied myself by hanging up my low rise combat trousers (because I desperately wanted to be one of the All Saints), my wide legged JNCO jeans (because they were cool until we realized that outlandishly wide trouser legs actually soaked up all the rain), my Morgan pedal pushers (dear god, why?) and many, many satin backless tops.
Of course, by the time the last Kangol hat was put away I desperately wanted my bed. Of course, it was unmade. Of course, Roger had been right. Of course, that annoyed me even more.
In the two decades that have passed since that day, I have always been sure to heed Roger’s advice and not just on moving day but every morning, clean sheets or not.
Make your bed. Then, whatever happens, you can always get into bed. Such a simple instruction that makes such a difference to the end of the day.
Do the thing you don’t want to do now so you can make your future comfortable.
For whatever reason, I broke the rule on Saturday, chasing the instant gratification of doing literally anything else other than wrestling my duvet into a clean set of sheets. And I had to deal with the consequence of that decision at 1am.
More and more I am learning that putting life off isn’t the quick fix. Whether it’s the bed sheets, the sales call, the workout or the break up.
For you to rest comfortably, you have to put the work in now. Don’t put off the annoying or the awkward or the uncomfortable. For those things won’t disappear. They just feel harder when you’re tired.
Listen to Roger. He knows. Make your bed. And lie in it.
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