I used to hate making my bed. Well, I didn’t hate it, but it didn’t make sense. Why should I, a tired and busy girl who deserves five extra minutes of sleep, take the time to precisely fold my covers and meticulously align my pillows if, in just a few hours, I would be a sleeping tornado and spoil all of my effort?
A few months ago I must have hit my head pretty hard because I wildly decided to make my bed. That day, my mom hadn’t nagged me and my grandparents weren’t coming over, so there was no drive to impress. However, I found myself fluffing my pillows, elegantly draping my blanket over the mattress, and smoothing out every crease I could find.
Finally, I stepped back and admired my immaculate bed. However, it looked silly; it was too good to be in a room with a chaotic stack of books christening the nightstand, a pile of clean laundry begging to be folded, and chemistry worksheets peppered on every surface. Every flaw seemed to come alive after I made my bed. The only thing I could think to do was clean my nightstand, fold my clothes, and organize my papers so that everything would match the perfection of my bed. So, I did.
I was on a roll, and I couldn’t stop myself. I finished that tedious history reading that had been haunting me for days. I sat down and erased all the spam emails that had been cluttering my inbox for months. I even went on a run, because at that point, it just made sense.
A few hours later, after watching two episodes of my favorite show, which I hadn’t had time to catch up with in forever, I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and tucked myself into bed. The covers hugging my body, I laid in the dark. I felt safe. I felt soothed. I felt light. I felt comfortable. I felt free. Slowly, my eyelids met. I began to drift towards the world of dreams and a peaceful state of rest. And I knew, the next the morning, I would wake up, five minutes early, and start Day Two of a positive cycle.
Now, I can’t say that I make my bed with such grace every single morning. Sometimes I get lazy, sometimes I sleep through my alarm, and every once and a while I look at the jumble of bedding and can’t help but think it looks too perfectly cozy to interfere with. But I will admit one thing: the days I make my bed are the best days. The days I make my bed I am motivated more, so I accomplish more, so I smile more. I can wholeheartedly confess that I love to make my bed.