Many of us have a convoluted and unhelpful connection with sleep, which can be traced back to how we learned about the subject many years ago. Bedtimes are usually strictly enforced by parents of small children. They prefer early nights, give their babies plenty of naps throughout the day, think a lot about black-out curtains, and while they may be indulgent in certain areas, they are likely to be completely implacable in any negotiation over routines: lights out at seven p.m., no ifs, ands, or buts.
Nothing here is altruistic: weary tiny children are a misery to care for. Every reversal becomes a drama, every disappointment becomes a disaster, and every thrill becomes frenzy. It's hard to live a half-decent adult life while caring for a tired toddler. Totalitarianism is a result of self-interest. While a draconian mindset may be beneficial in the early years, it can create an uneasy dynamic in the thinking of an offspring as adolescence approaches. Growing up and asserting one's freedom and uniqueness can lead to a more defiant and careless attitude toward bedtimes. The strictures and denying restrictions of the past are no longer applicable to a newly empowered young adult.
Given that one is clearly no longer a toddler, why bother putting the light off by ten o'clock, or even midnight or one o'clock in the morning? What is so overlooked is how much every adult shares a young child's susceptibility to sleep deprivation.
We, like our younger selves, do not have complete control over a realistic assessment of our own prospects or situation. There are many various ways to recount the storey of our lives, ranging from an optimistic tale of growth interspersed with valiant losses to a tragic tale of unforgivable mistakes. Nothing bigger, but equally important, than how long our minds have been permitted to sleep on a pillow in the preceding hours can define the difference between lunacy and sanity.
It's particularly terrible that this link is so simple to overlook. There are no warning bells ringing in our heads when we are running low on nighttime nectar. As a result, we begin to believe a variety of ominous things with alarming ease: that our relationship is finished, that everyone hates us, that our lives are pointless, and that human life is a cosmic joke.
When we're fatigued, we're attacked by thoughts we've already conquered. We go insane from exhaustion long before we realise how exhaustion is robbing us of our sanity. When we're fatigued, our thoughts are vengeful and sloppy. It overlooks crucial nuances, gives the upper hand to our adversaries, and delivers the triumph to the preachers of sadness. Being cautious isn't limited to the evening. When we are overwhelmed at various times during the day, we should know to stop, hoist the white flag, and take a sleep.
When we're lying in bed, it's natural to imagine oneself as a smaller, furry mammal, such as a rabbit or a squirrel. We should draw the duvet over our heads and lift our knees up extremely close to our chests. With our tears, we might saturate an entire section of the cushion. We should - symbolically - brush our own tired brows, as a kind adult may have done in the past. Life as an adult is unbearably difficult, and we should be allowed to acknowledge and regret this. In our weepy squirrel position, we shouldn't feel strange.
Others go to great lengths to conceal the fact that they do, or would like to do, the same thing. Before someone will let us in on the depth of their misery and worry, and their longings for a nice, safe nook, we need to know them incredibly well - better than we know 99 percent of humanity. It may appear childish, but it is the essence of adulthood to recognise and accept one's regressive tendencies.
The curled squirrel pose suggests that active reasoning cannot address all mental difficulties. It's also important to recognise that not thinking consciously is a part of the mind's job. Curled up in bed allows our minds to do a different kind of thinking, the kind that can happen when we aren't impatiently looking for answers, when the hectoring conscious self takes a break and lets the mind do what it wants for a while. As a result, ironically, certain richer, more creative thoughts can have the quiet and freedom to crystallize, as they could when we're out for a walk in the countryside or loitering in a cafe.
When it's all we're designed to do, thinking isn't our strongest suit. There are still many reasons to live. We might not be able to notice them until we've given ourselves the gift of a sob-inducing nap or a restful night's sleep.