My first exposure to Russian storytelling (not counting Peter and the Wolf) arrived by means of the Junior Great Books program. We read the folk tale “Vasilisa the Beautiful,” which contained the standard frightful elements of such stories: young, plucky girl; evil step-relatives; bloodthirsty witch; supernatural assistance (in this case a wooden doll that offers advice after being given food and drink, which is arguably the creepiest aspect of the story). As usual, the villain is the most interesting character. Baba Yaga is a ghastly crone who lives in a “hut on fowl’s legs,” and who is assisted in her chores by a pair of knife-wielding floating hands. Vasilisa has been sent by her proto-mean-girl stepsisters to fetch fire from Baba Yaga, who agrees to supply it only if Vasilisa performs some hugely difficult tasks, such as separating good kernels from bad in a huge sack of corn. The wooden doll somehow does the work for her overnight, the witch is bested by the plucky girl, who returns home with fire in a skull, which then consumes her step-family, reducing them to ashes that the doll will probably clean up after a small dinner. Moral: unrelated women are evil to each other, and men who remarry tend to make terrible choices.
In the years since I first read this story (1972, or perhaps earlier), one phrase has stayed in a corner of my brain. Each night, when Vasilisa tearfully tells the doll about the next impossible thing she must accomplish before breakfast, the doll assures her that all will be well, and sends Vasilisa to bed, with the admonition, “The morning is wiser than the evening.” I subconsciously brooded over this sentence for years, until at last it hatched into an idea I could appreciate: the person I am in the morning is usually wiser than the person I am in the evening.
I’ve touched upon this adage in another essay, but I feel it deserves a spotlight of its own. The clear, simple truth of it made so much sense to me, that I was puzzled when others I shared it with didn’t seem to get it. From a college classmate: “Do you mean, how your judgment seems so much clearer when you wake up to a strange face on the next pillow, or with a pounding hangover and a car full of lawn ornaments stolen from who-knows-where?” Or, from possibly the same source, “Is that the reasoning behind scheduling the goddamn SAT at goddamn eight o’clock on a goddamn Saturday morning?” Some adults I knew with less colorful lives (and language) were a bit closer, suggesting that this is the same sentiment as “sleeping on it,” where “it” is a decision requiring careful, or at least time-consuming, consideration.
What I realized it that it’s not the time required for clear thinking, but the actual sleep. Essential as it is for sentient life, sleep gets only slightly more respect than bodily excretion (though with much nicer attendant furnishings). Little kids speak wide-eyed about a future in which they may stay up as late as they want. Captains of industry credit some of their success to being able to “get by” on only four hours of sleep, with the subtext that anyone who indulges in more than that lacks ambition and grit. In his delightful essay “On Going to Bed,” Christopher Morley portrayed one’s approach to imminent bedtime as tantamount to facing mortality itself, a heroic effort that, at its inevitable conclusion, leaves one “an unsightly object and a disgrace to humanity.” Indeed, Dylan Thomas strengthens the metaphor in the other direction, begging his father not to “go gentle into that good night.” We venerate the night life, the dancing until the wee hours. Nights are for parties, for weddings and celebrations; mornings are for funerals and the goddamn SAT.
Early in life, perhaps not long after meeting Vasilisa, I realized that I am a member of that reviled race, the Morning People. The advantages were many: I could be first to the shared bathroom, first to the cereal box, first to the choice parking space. My productive hours spanned until lunch, and if they waned thereafter, the people attuned to a later time zone were there to pick up the slack. True, it also meant that I frequently walked in a world of zombies, or more often acted in solitude, with no one to share another splendid sunrise. And I found myself avoiding the company of those who tended to schedule dinner within minutes of the time when I was wont to be brushing my teeth and fluffing the pillow.
It was in college that I discovered the evening/morning dichotomy. Many of my friends followed the traditional pattern of pulling all-nighters when studying for big exams (or completing papers due the next day). I tried that once, armed with No-Doz and a legal pad, working on a short story for a class. After scribbling until six and then sleeping until eleven, I looked at my work and found that the quality (for that matter, coherence) plummeted after about midnight. Perhaps that same semester I discovered that if I needed last-minute work in writing, or especially in studying, my best results came from going to bed early and then rising early to do the work. The morning was more clearheaded than the evening.
There is no question that people’s moods and levels of functionality will vary greatly in the course of a day. And it’s also clear that some people are happier, livelier, and even more productive at later hours of the day. Frank Sinatra always scheduled his recording sessions for the evening, when he was more relaxed and feeling in better control of his craft. The specific hours of anyone’s activities are not the point; mornings and evenings are constantly shifting with the turning of the globe. The point is the consequence of sleep, or the lack thereof.
Sleep deprivation is a tried-and-true method of torture; without sleep, people become less inhibited, less guarded, more suggestible. Recent brain studies show that during sleep, the brain is physically repairing damage to the myelin sheathing on nerve cells and connections; a night’s rest is also a night’s reconstruction. It could be said that you truly are a somewhat different person after a few hours’ slumber.
The morning is wiser than the evening. Sure, it’s tempting to try to finish that project before turning in, especially if the deadline looms large. (Old college joke: Rome wasn’t built in a day, but knowing architecture majors, it was designed in one night.) And even in her grave, Dear Abby is wagging a skeletal finger and warning us Not To Go To Bed Angry. And sometimes circumstance does not allow you to choose. But if you can, if you can weigh your options and pick your battles, isn’t it better to do it well-rested? Sleep on it and get back to me.
My mother thought sleep was a waste of time and resented having to sleep. She was passionate about life but I’m not sure she really enjoyed it. She napped when she was desperate for sleep. I nap because it’s such a wonderful indulgence. Thanks for another good one, Guy!
I’m also a big fan of naps, but I know that some people (e.g. mi esposa) don’t indulge because they feel groggy afterward. More important is to get solid sleep on a regular basis. As the song says, “Let the world turn without you tonight.”
By the way, Maureen, did the Christopher Morley reference look familiar? I first read that essay in your class. Teacher kudos!
I am NOT a morning person… But if I have to be up, I will be cheerful [most of the time)… I have always done my best work later at night. I will not get up early to fo osh something… I will get up on occassion for a sunrise or something special, but otherwise have always been in awe of you “morning people”…
Only time I got into rising early was living in Moscow in the summer on the 5th floor with windows facing East. The sun would start to nudge me awake at 5am.
I love that essay (and your writing!) and I am not a morning person or a nap person (I fall into the groggy camp), but I have also found that “things are darkest before the dawn…”….