Unmade Beds

Audio recording and upload >>

At 5:00 AM, my phone buzzes, and it won’t stop. I’ve already hit the snooze option three to four times now (as planned in advance), so it really is time for me to wake up and turn it off. I find my way to the bathroom in the dark, steps I’ve made so many times I don’t need the light switch any more. I turn on the wireless speakers for my Pandora station and begin the routine. By no later than 6:00 AM, the teeth are brushed, my hair is styled, today’s shirt is ironed, a matching tie is knotted, the lunchbox is packed, and I’m out the door. However, there is one thing you won’t find in my routine, to the horror of all mothers around the world, mine included. This morning, I did not make my bed.

My bed only gets made each time the sheets are washed, and my sheets are only washed when I remember that’s something an adult is supposed to do on a regular basis. On a normal day such as this, the bed remains unmade. It was left unmade yesterday, and I bet it will stay unmade tomorrow. I believe this is how it should be.

Reason 1: Ain’t nobody got time for that! In a day full of mind-numbing tasks, why should I add one more? Why should precious minutes be spent smoothing sheets, layering comforters, or fluffing pillows? All you’re going to do is unmake the thing in less than 24 hours anyway. Time is precious! Of all the chores in the world, making the bed is hardly as useful as taking out the trash, watering the plant, or bringing in the mail. But let’s be real, I’m actually taking that extra moment in my day to read an extra page or chapter, justify one more episode on Netflix. Why not? I deserve it. And at night? After a long day of activities when I crawl up to my bedroom, I want to slide right into that cozy, Alex-shaped bed sheet cocoon. Making the bed in the morning would only delay the sweet prize I’ve rightly earned for making it through the day: sleep. I will let nothing stand in my way, not even a duvet cover.

Reason 2: My bed is a symbol. It is an uprising against the idea that everything in life must always be perfect 100% of the time. This is a valuable reminder I seldom take to heart. In a world of teaching, I perform for an audience of 100+ students who are eager to notice the new pimple on my nose, the rare crack in my voice during lecture, or the frequency of which I wear any given shirt/tie combination. I know I shouldn’t care as much, but I do. The worksheets must be completely free of errors. Any jokes must be perfectly timed. The piles of paper must be at precise right angles on my desk. Earlier this week, I went up and down the stairs three times, googled a handful of online articles, and changed my clothes twice because I couldn’t figure out whether the brown or the black dress shoes were more proper for my navy pants. I shouldn’t care this much about perfection or appearance, but the reality is that I do. And then I look at my bed. My bed doesn’t worry about crisp hospital corners or if it can bounce a quarter off itself. It’s a safe place. A place that says, “Come and relax.” A place that says, “Let it all go.” A place that says, “See, I’m messy, too, and that’s okay.”

So, no, I did not make my bed this morning, and I do not have plans to make my bed tomorrow. Unmade beds are a thing of beauty, and I believe in them.

This post was recorded using Vocaroo.com. You can also listen to it by clicking here.

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For more Mr. Davidson examples of "This I Believe" essays, check out some of my favorite previous blog posts for this assignment:

1. Millennials, a post in which I come to terms with my Generation Y being absorbed into the Millennial generation of my students

2. The Power of Being There, a post in which I decide how to best support my students, motivated by an attempt help my students cope with the loss of a classmate

3. Choosing Awesome, a post in which I decide to spend more time focusing on the positive