I woke up this morning and looked at my bed. Sheets unfolded, corners askew, a small chaos made of cotton. My first thought was not about productivity or discipline. It was simply: “Maybe this deserves a blog post.”
I have this feeling that my posts are already written. Like my songs, my poems, or even some encounters in life. They exist somewhere already. It is just a matter of touching base with the universe and understanding when it is time to write, to meet, or to release something into the world. This morning felt like the right moment for this one. It is not earth shattering, but it is true.
So here it is. I do not make my bed. Not in the strict sense. I wash the sheets when they need it, but I do not arrange them every morning. I have read countless articles and books explaining why making your bed is a keystone habit. A small victory that sets the tone for the day. Discipline. Small pride. All good. All reasonable. And whether it’s an army veteran, Jordan Peterson, or David Goggins saying it, there’s a high probability I’ll like what they’re saying.
And yet, there is a quieter truth beneath that advice.
I have two small and slightly odd tendencies. I do not make my bed, and I do not untie my shoelaces at the end of the day. Little things. Inconsequential, maybe. Maybe the shoe life will be less than expected. Maybe the room will look untidy. My grandma certainly would not have approved. “It looks like the dog’s house,” she would say. “Don’t you have any problem sleeping there?”
The truth is, I do not. It does not bother me. Not really.
And maybe it should not.
Because as long as you allow yourself these small imperfections, these tiny spaces of indulgence, you protect your focus for what truly matters. Discipline is important, yes. But so is mental bandwidth. If every decision requires effort, if every morning starts with a demand for perfection, you have less energy left for the work that actually counts. Creative work. Meaningful work. Impactful work.
There is a well known story about Barack Obama deliberately limiting his wardrobe to just gray and blue suits in order to reduce cognitive fatigue. I am not a former US President, and this is more about indulgence than cognitive load. Still, the principle is not that far away.
The bed remains messy. The laces stay tied. And tomorrow, I begin again. Not perfectly. But purposefully.
Here it is. A small daily reminder.
Not a flaw, but a pause.
