My Second Heart Journey

Sleeping In Is Overrated

People seem to believe sleeping late is one of life’s greatest pleasures.

They talk about it like it’s a vacation.

“I slept until ten this morning.”

Ten?

By ten o’clock, I’ve been awake for five hours, had tea, taken my medications, checked my email, written ten pages, solved two world problems, and discovered a new ache that I’ll probably monitor for the rest of the day.

I’m usually in bed by nine and awake sometime between four and five in the morning. I don’t even need much help from the alarm clock. My body simply announces, “That’s enough sleeping. We have things to think about.”

I used to believe waking up that early was something only farmers, bakers, and people with airport jobs did. Now I love it.

Four in the morning is the best part of the day.

The house is quiet. The phone isn’t ringing. Nobody is sending me an urgent message about something that wasn’t urgent yesterday. There are no lawnmowers, leaf blowers, delivery trucks, or television commercials trying to sell me medicine for a disease I didn’t know I had.

Even Honey looks at me as if to say, “You’re on your own.”

That quiet time is when I do most of my writing. There’s something about the early morning that clears out the clutter in my head. The ideas arrive before the rest of the world gets a chance to interrupt them.

I make my tea, sit down at the computer, and start typing.

Sometimes I know exactly what I’m going to write. Other times, I stare at the screen until the words decide to cooperate. But even staring at a blank page feels more productive at four-thirty in the morning. At two in the afternoon, a blank page feels like failure. Before sunrise, it feels like possibility.

Since my heart transplant, mornings have taken on a different meaning.

Waking up is no longer something I take for granted.

Every morning, I open my eyes and realize the new heart is still on duty. No complaints, no request for overtime pay, just a steady beat telling me we’ve been given another day.

That’s a pretty good reason to get out of bed.

I know people who hit the snooze button four or five times. I’ve never understood that. The alarm goes off, they stop it, fall asleep for seven minutes, then let it scare them again.

Why would anyone schedule repeated disappointment?

If I’m awake, I’m getting up. Lying in bed thinking about getting up is more tiring than actually doing it.

Besides, getting older changes your relationship with sleep. When you’re young, you can sleep for ten straight hours and wake up refreshed. At my age, sleep comes in chapters.

You sleep for a while, wake up, look at the clock, rearrange the pillows, check whether your legs still work, visit the bathroom, and begin the next chapter.

By four or five, the book is finished.

People tell me, “You should sleep in once in a while.”

Why?

So I can wake up late, feel behind all day, and miss the only peaceful hours available?

Sleeping until nine sounds nice until you realize half the morning is gone. The sun is already up. The phone has started ringing. Emails are arriving. Someone wants something. The world has found you.

At five in the morning, nobody wants anything.

That may be the real luxury.

There’s no pressure to answer calls, make decisions, or explain yourself. It’s just me, my tea, my computer, and a quiet house. I can think without competing with the noise of the day.

Some mornings I write about stone. Other mornings I write about my transplant, getting older, or some ordinary annoyance that has been bothering me. I may work on a book, an article, or an essay about why banks won’t break a twenty-dollar bill anymore.

Everything seems worth writing about before sunrise.

My best ideas often show up during those quiet hours. Maybe they were there all along, but the noise of the day kept drowning them out. Early morning gives them room to speak.

By the time everyone else is waking up, I already feel as though I’ve accomplished something. Even if the rest of the day gets away from me, I’ve written a few pages. I’ve taken something that existed only in my head and put it into words.

That’s a good day, and it hasn’t even had breakfast yet.

Going to bed at nine may not sound exciting. I’m probably missing late-night television, breaking news, and commercials featuring retired celebrities selling reverse mortgages.

I think I’ll survive.

By nine o’clock, my medications are taken, my work is finished, and my brain has started closing departments. Staying awake longer doesn’t make me more productive. It just gives me extra time to fall asleep in a chair.

So I go to bed early without apology.

Then, somewhere between four and five, I wake up to a silent house and another day I wasn’t always sure I’d have.

The tea is hot. The screen is blank. The words are waiting.

Sleeping in can’t compete with that.

Frederick M. Hueston author of MY Heart Journey book series(7/17/26)