After a challenging medical diagnosis, the author rediscovers the power of mundane tasks like making the bed. It's a reflection of self-discipline and offers a sense of control during difficult times.
I read a book a few years ago called Make Your Bed. I say I read it, but sometimes a book’s title is enough for you to get the message. Make Your Bed seemed like sensible, practical advice even if I wasn’t sure from the description whether the book was aimed at someone like me. The publisher described it as “an attractively packaged gift book, perfect for Commencement, Father’s Day and the business and military audience”.
It was based on a speech given to graduates by retired Admiral William H McRaven of the Navy Seals. Being a pacifist, I’m not usually in the market for advice from people in the American military, but Make Your Bed seemed solid enough. I thought about it for a while, made my bed for a week and then promptly forgot all about it, continuing my slovenly non-bed-making ways. You see, the admiral’s speech didn’t really hit home back then. Over the past more than 20 years writing personal columns, the message not sinking in has been very on-brand for me. What would happen was I’d write enthusiastically about some wonderful, life-enhancing discovery, the exhilarating practice of aerial yoga say, or the joy of scrambled eggs cooked extremely slowly and I’d change my ways for a while. There’d be wholehearted namastes intoned while tangled up in a silk hammock suspended from the ceiling and mornings spent painstakingly producing perfect breakfast fare before the eventual, inevitable return to my speedy egg-making, sedentary ways. Over the years I’ve had to confront the fact that when it comes to self-improvement, I am one of life’s slowest learners. Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour is not just a concert, it’s a love story - and Dublin said yes Friends, bad singing and Love Actually: Miriam O’Callaghan, James Kavanagh, Marian Keyes and more on their Christmas traditionsa little too much to be healthy, often getting drunk as a way to numb the sting of life’s vicissitudes, I gave up alcohol, instantly and forever. There was no amount of wine in the world that could inure me to the news I’d just been given, so I decided to do without. And something else: recalling the admiral’s message, I finally started making my bed regularly for the first time in my life. This has turned out to be one of the most surprisingly profound changes. Over to Admiral McRaven: “To rise in the morning and complete the first task of the day will give you motivation to do more. The bed also represents you. Few things in your home are more personal. Making your bed is a reflection of your discipline, your pride and your personal habits. If you can’t get up in the morning and make your bed what else are you incapable of doing?” He had me until “incapable”. Way to bedshame people, Admiral. When you are getting intensive medical treatment or trying to wrest your spiralling mind from dark places it’s not helpful to think about what you are “incapable” of doing. Better to focus on what you can do. And so on those days when I was able to get out of it, I made my bed. It was something I could control. “I made the bed,” I could say to myself proudly. And if making my bed was all I did that day, it was enough. These days, making the bed isn’t the intricate production it once used to be. Not in my house anyway. The bottom sheet is fitted, so no tricky hospital corners are needed, and after experimenting briefly with a top sheet under the duvet I had long discarded that extra bit of bed-making graft. So when I say “make the bed” it really amounts to smoothing out the duvet and repositioning the pillows. And there are a couple of other steps I’ve added, both inspired by the generosity of friends. Telling people your “news” when you get a challenging medical diagnosis can be difficult. I mixed it up a bit. I made phone calls to my siblings. That was hard. I sent a few group text messages. Easier. And I met some close friends in person to explain what was happening even though I didn’t really understand what was happening. I met one friend in the cafe at. Over salad and coffee I explained as much as I could. She knew already that I’d had some bad news and arrived bearing a gift. It was a bedspread made decades ago by her lovely mother, a highly skilled craftswoman, known in the family as Bunny. She made one for each of her children reflecting their particular style and personalities. This one featured tartan-patterned raw silk on one side and the judicious use of sparkly embroidery on the other. This beautiful handmade bedspread became part of my bed-making ritual. And when I got married last July, so too did a gorgeous pink Donegal tweed blanket, one of many thoughtful wedding gifts
SELF-IMPROVEMENT BEDMAKING DISCIPLINE MOTIVATION MENTAL HEALTH WELL-BEING
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