Sleep & Grow Rich

We are the captains of our waking hours and of our sleep. Yet this secret is kept from us. From the time we’re old enough to receive rewards and punishments, we’re being programmed to get onto other people’s timetables.

They are the ones fixing dinner and putting it on the table. They start the classes in school at precisely the same hour and minute.

Our regimentation becomes internalized at a certain point, which is often referred to as adulthood.

“I won’t always be there to pick up after you!” our moms warn. And sure enough, there comes a time when we have to gather our stuff, washing it and putting it away ourselves.

We learn to abide by our employers’ clocks. It is they who usually say, “Your shift starts at eight and goes to five. You have 45 minutes for lunch.”

Of course, these hours were an improvement over laboring conditions that existed during the industrial revolution. But now, we’re losing those strides made by those that negotiated the 40-hour week.

With technology, work can be taken anywhere, practically speaking. Turning work off has never been more difficult.

For example, as a consultant I was asked to improve the performance of a sales team. The group was in continuous contact with each other. When one of them closed a deal, they had to report it to the others, regardless what time it was.

Their phones buzzed when deals were done and they, in turn, were conditioned to signal back, “Good job!” or “Way to go!” to show their supportiveness.

Even when they missed deals, when clients said no, or decisions were put off, they had to report in and share the disappointment. Inevitably, this meant you could be in the middle of your own sales presentation and be interrupted by the “failure” of another to get an order.

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi wrote a fascinating book about peak performance—on the job, in sports, and everywhere, titled Flow. When we’re flowing while doing something, time seems to go by without our awareness. We’re so wrapped-up in our activity that things seem effortless and extremely gratifying.

Athletes have called this mood “being in the zone.” Seemingly, in the “zone” they can do no wrong.

This wondrous state of mind first descended upon me when I was 12, as if from heaven.

Late for my Little League game, where I was slated for the first time in my nascent career to pitch, I stuck out my thumb at the intersection near my house to hitch a ride.

Instantly, a young chap in a red Corvette pulled up and asked if he could help. I said I was late and I had to pitch and he replied, “Buckle your seat belt.” In a glorious blur, he got me to the ballpark in less than four minutes.

I had just enough time to make a few practice throws before striding to the mound.

What a game! I pitched from start to last. They scored four runs, which would have normally been enough to beat me.

But I was in the zone, so the script played out another way. We scored nine runs. I personally batted eight of them in with the three homers I hit. Our backup catcher was behind the plate that day, instead of me. He did a fine job.

But a week later, he broke his thumb, taking him out for the season. I’d never pitch another game in Little League, but in a way I didn’t have to.

That one glorious day of flow, of being in the zone, created this fond memory that I’m sharing with you.

By the way, in regaling you with it, my fingers flew across the keyboard. Just recalling this magical afternoon put me right back in the zone again.

Those sales team interruptions I mentioned to you, with the constant messaging about sales made and missed, is exactly the type of modern madness that prevents us from entering and staying in a state of flow. We pay a big price when we permit these sorts of interruptions.

Imagine a babbling brook or a swift stream. It’s a beautiful thing with its sights and sounds. Now dam it up every so many feet and it becomes a number of stagnant ponds.

These still waters invite algae, and the oxygen in this natural resource is diminished.

When we’re flowing we’re happy. When we’re stuck, we’re not.

Sleep provides a crucial opportunity to flow. But most people don’t even consider it an activity. They wrongly think of it as inactivity.

The ancient Greek, Heraclitus knew otherwise when he observed:

“Even a soul submerged in sleep is hard at work and helps make something of the world.”

There’s that sleep-is-important-work idea, again!

Just as we undervalue the accomplishments of sleep, daydreaming is also derided. I would argue that it is restorative, just like sleep.

If we aren’t permitted to space-out at least a little, our minds feel unduly fenced-in. Daydreaming allows us to wander off while awake. Sleeping and daydreaming can both produce a creative state of consciousness. Free from the demands of concentration, we are able to perceive connections between things that seem unrelated when fully awake.

For instance, many of my book titles come to me when I am relaxing, without a specific train of thought. It’s almost a tickling feeling that comes over my brain when it plays with language and creates new catch phrases, mottos, and titles.

I’m not sure exactly what happens, but I know I’m flowing, or more aptly, my mind is flowing as these new notions percolate to the surface.

I can select environments that lend themselves to creating a new title. For instance, there is a particular coffee shop that is especially conducive. Typically, I only need a relaxed 20 minutes there until my awareness conjures something new, whether it is a title or a communication strategy.

I carry a clipboard, a pad and pens with me almost everywhere I go. Yesterday, when leaving the library, a title came to me as I was getting into my car in the parking lot. I stopped right away, pulled my out my pen and wrote down the phrase before it skipped away.