When I was growing up, my parents would go to bed around nine thirty, ten o'clock.
And from that point on — the house was mine.
Video games, TV, the internet, talking to my girlfriend on the phone as late as I wanted. That last one had consequences. The cordless phone battery would die mid-conversation, so I'd swap to the next handset. Then that one would die. I'd work my way through every phone in the house.
Next morning my parents would come downstairs and find a graveyard of dead cordless phones on the counter. Every single one of them drained.
What the hell?
I'd get off the phone at two in the morning, then be up at five, five thirty for cross country. Come home. Shower. Nap.
Life was good.
It crept later and later through high school. College pulled it back to midnight. And then slowly, over years, something shifted.
Around the time I got my sleep apnea diagnosed — got the CPAP machine — I woke up actually refreshed for the first time in I don't know how long. Energized. Like my body had been running on a bad connection for years and someone finally fixed the signal.
Then I called off the wedding. Came back from Italy. And I remember just... being ready for the day to be over at nine PM. I'd go to bed early and wake up at four, four thirty in the morning — quiet enough to just create. Write. Think. Whatever needed to come out. I dug it immediately.
Now I'm somewhere in the middle — asleep by ten, ten thirty, up between five thirty and six thirty. Chopin in the mornings. Philip Glass. Beethoven. Bach. And lately a lot of Iron & Wine on vinyl — Our Endless Numbered Days, their older stripped-down era. Poignant title for where I've landed.
The mornings are mine in a way the late nights never were.
I see the sun come up. I hear the birds. My eyes get the light before anything asks anything of me. It just feels better.
There's a lot of temptation to blow up your routine on the weekend — longer naps, staying up late, letting the whole thing slide. I get it. But I think you do better when you stay inside the rhythm, even loosely.
Take this weekend. Maybe it's rainy. Maybe it's quiet. Leave the TV off. Put on the music that makes you feel good. Make your ritualized, romanticized cup of coffee — do the pour over, do the extra effort thing. Let it be a small ceremony.
Do it every day and those become your habits.
There's a lot of special in the ordinary if you actually look for it. The sun coming up. The birds. Your dogs around your feet. Your family. Your coworkers. The routine itself.
Look for it.
Did you have a version of this ebb and flow? A moment where you finally caught your rhythm — sleep, diet, how you work, where you work, what little changes unlocked something in your day?
Warmly,
Rob Bergeron
Owner–Realtor at Award-Winning Winner Realty
PS: I've got a slew of good opportunities across a lot of different asset classes. Hit me up and tell me what you're looking for — I'll tell you if I've got something that matches.
PSS: Yesterday I had two people reach out wanting to come over, hang out, and work — they want help bringing more automations into their business. I love it. I love serving in this way. Hit me up if that's something you're looking to do.