Opinion

Bimpe Archer: All I want this year is a decent night's sleep

Bimpe Archer
Bimpe Archer Bimpe Archer

IT’S that time of year again where I tell you how I don’t make resolutions and you roll your eyes, yawn and turn your attention to the column opposite.

While I’m not going to break entirely with tradition – what could be more depressing than detailing all the areas where you will fail over the next 12 months, literally PLANNING to fail? – I have become more open in recent times to the notion of treating January 1 as an opportunity to focus on what I want for the year ahead.

Last year I dipped my toe into the hot-tub of self-improvement by following a suggestion from one of my erstwhile favourite podcasts.

The hosts’ idea of making an 18 for 2018 list was perfect for a resolution refusenik like me who could still do with a kick up the backside to rouse me from my comfy sofa watching TV that I, for the most part, don’t even like.

It’s more of a happiness `to do’ list that can be as ambitious or prosaic as you like, as long as it is made up of specific, achievable and quantifiable items.

For example there is no “I will go to a (insert your own exercise) class every week”, but instead “I will try a new (…) class”; less “I will write my Booker-winning novel” and more “I will write something, even if it is just one paragraph every day”.

I decided on a mix of fun “find the perfect red lipstick” and the more mundane “get kids’ feet measured”. Neither were resolutions, but both were fairly easy to tick off and improved my life in the short term.

It doesn’t matter that my mother thinks red lipstick “ruins” me and I forget to wear it more than once a month, or that the sproglings’ blasted feet keep growing. They have been ticked off and I can look back at my list and know that I actually did something in 2018.

I actually did 13 things in 2018, which isn’t a bad hit rate.

My 19 for 2019 list includes taking my 2018 Christmas decorations down, learning a signature cake recipe, reading Proust’s `In Search of Lost Time’ and going on a solo writing retreat. (One of those things is a lie.)

This year I’ve decided to venture for an actual paddle in the aforementioned hot-tub by picking a `theme’ for the year (Can you tell yet that it’s an American podcast?)

The idea is to select a word that will sum up your purpose for the entire year.

I was slightly dubious about this one to be honest. The hosts’ choices were a bit confronting for someone who is not into resolutions. `Bigger’, `Renew’ and `Adventure’ are quite a lot to live up to.

However, the one which came to me in a flash in the run up to Christmas, is no less challenging.

“My theme for 2019 is going to be `Sleep’,” I told a colleague whose children are around the same age as mine.

“Good luck with that,” she replied drily.

The thing is, though, I don’t think I’ve had a good night’s sleep since I was seven months pregnant with my son - that last trimester, man. That is almost six years.

You think when they finally sleep through the night you will too, but by the time they do it’s too late, your sleeping pattern has been broken and you’re trapped in a short sleep cycle. I’m not convinced it ever lasts long enough to actually enter REM.

I’m not yet sure how I’m going to revert to pre-child slumber. All I know is that I’m going to revert to pre-child slumber, even if it kills my social life, destroys my to-do list and …

The plan is to re-emerge in 2020, well-rested, energised, rejuvenated.

In other words, my New Year’s Resolution for 2019 is to completely write off 2019. If that’s not the perfect anti-resolution resolution, I don’t know what is.