Owls vs larks

T’whit t’woo and which are you?

Definition:

Owl: a nocturnal bird of prey with large eyes, a facial disk, a hooked beak and typically a loud hooting call.

Or: a person who habitually goes to bed late and feels energetic in the evening

Lark: a small ground dwelling songbird with elongated hind claws and a song that is delivered on the wing, typically crested and with brown streaky plumage.

Or: a person who habitually gets up early and feels energetic early in the day.

Photo by Agto Nugroho on Unsplash

T’whit t’whoo and which are you?

It never came as a great surprise to me that I was an ‘Owl’. Even as a child I struggled in the mornings. I was a member of a Saturday morning tennis club when I was in my tweens and early teens, and I have memories of my ‘best mate’ coming round and waking me up every Saturday by not so gently batting me around the head with a tennis racquet whilst bopping around in her whites. I could have throttled her on many an occasion had I been awake enough.

In my late teenage years my sleep cycle became extreme as I graduated from an owlet to fully fledged barn, but without the wisdom. I would sleep until 2pm. And I mean sleep. When I was at University I actually made an arrangement with a fellow sloth-like student that we would attend college every other day, register for each other and share notes so we each only had to arise before lunchtime two or three days a week instead of five. We successfully conducted this arrangement for the entire three years of our undergraduate degree (Mathematics, Statistics and Operational Research). On my ‘non-attendance’ days I would aim to haul myself out of bed for 1.20pm just so I could watch Neighbours with a bowl of chicken supa-noodles and a glass of milk. Breakfast of champions. My Uni boyfriend was most aggrieved as on his Economics course he had to be present for nigh on a full day every day, and as for the engineers… well… you reap what you sow.

My sleep requirement was so intense and so deep, that one time there was a fire alarm in the middle of the night and I slept through it completely. I’m forever thankful it was a test as otherwise I would literally have been burnt to a crisp. And I’m not one for misuse of the word ‘literally’.

Photo by Caleb Shong on Unsplash

The thing is, you’re expected to be an ‘owl’ when you’re a teenager or young adult, but there is a societal requirement that when you ‘grow up’ you become a ‘lark’.

People who rise at 6am and are in bed by 10pm are viewed as virtuous. If I rise at 9am and stay up until 1am I am subversive, What if I really leant into it and got up at midday and bedded down at 4am? I’d be a rock star or a drug addict.

If you have a conventional job, it normally requires early waking - often a pre-6am rising - particularly with a commute into a ‘Big City’ as I had for some of those years. If you have children, your sleep is fucked for about twenty years and is largely centred around snatches in the twilight hours, midday and pre-dawn. You are forcibly dragged into lark world not just because the little blighters are ALWAYS larks (what is that about?) but also because their lives are centred around early rising, nursery and school schedules and early bed times. [The upside of this being that as an owl, when the kids settled around 7pm I had a whole evening to play with. That was a great period, I’m not gonna lie. But then, they grow up…]

Photo by David Mao on Unsplash

Larking about

I really thought for a period of time that I had become a lark, and that filled me with joy! I had always wanted to be a lark! Life seemed good for larks. Lark world is full of vitality and bright toothpaste smiles instead of strong coffee and dark eye circles. In ‘lockdown’ I would sometimes get up at 5am and sit in my garden with a cup of tea marvelling at all that was happening around me in nature (ok I did it once and put it on insta so that must mean it was my way of life), and I thought that perhaps I had cracked it…but we were in a global pandemic. Life was utterly upside down.

During my years of chronic illness including chronic fatigue - oh the irony - and until very recently, I have dreamt of being someone that rises at 7am (not 5am - because seriously - why?), does some mindfulness, perhaps 10 minutes of ‘yoga with Adrienne’, has a smoothie and actually fulfils the learning requirement on their ‘Babbel’ language app before the ‘official day’ commences but…that is not my reality, and not my way.

The 5am Club or fuck that?

When my kids were young, I was forcibly enrolled into the 5am club. Frogmarched there against my will to the sinster dreamlike rhythm of ‘row row row your boat’ with bleary eyes and barely functioning limbs…and for a while I did come to love being up in the early mornings. My own version of Stockholm Syndrome as I convinced myself to embrace my dawn captor. I found an entire world I hadn’t experienced in that way before. Having spent years as a shift working air traffic controller, I was very au fait with every single hour of the day, but normally as a conduit to/from or within work, but parenting clearly brought a new emphasis and perspective on having to function during the ‘anti-social’ times of day.

There is something beautiful about dawn/pre-dawn, I can’t deny that, and watching the sun rise in life (and particularly from an air traffic control tower) is quite extraordinary, but if you are a human that then has to function for the rest of the day, it can be the absolute ruin of you. On my brief periods of maternity leave I would allow myself to enjoy that magical quiet time. To breast feed with a cup of tea as the sun rose, knowing that I could nap on a sixpence later in the day. To walk and sing and hum to my baby in those eerily silent hours, wondering if I may have discovered a new way of being… of being a lark…

Photo by Steve Smith on Unsplash

As a parent of (now) teenagers, and someone that is finally starting to find and accept their own circadian rhythm beyond young children and shift work, I know that the 5am club is definitely not my way of being. I now have ZERO interest in being in this club and I suspect most former shift workers would concur. I ditched my membership even quicker than I did for the gym. The reality for me is that waking pre 6am can make me feel physically sick, like experiencing jetlag or a hangover without the joy of waking up somewhere sunny or having enjoyed a glass of wine. Fuck. That.

Accepting my reality

I wake up most mornings feeling utterly ruined, like I’ve been hit by a train. I drag myself out of bed so that I can enact some semblance of being a responsible parent by making sure that my 15 and 17 year old daughters are themselves out of bed; drink 14 cups of tea, procrastinate until past 11am because my brain just does not function until then, feel useless and disappointed with myself and then work sporadically until about 4pm. At that point, my ‘emotional teenage download’ clinic opens when my girls pour in from school/college, at the exact point that my own creativity/productivity is surging to a peak.

As I am just entering full flow, my life is met with demands, questions, needs, and then the practical load of driving, cooking, homework and everything that is involved, when I’m literally in my prime time. Then it’s 10pm and that’s when you’re supposed to think about going to bed, right? I self-flagellate about all the things I haven’t done in the day, and then compound it with a weird guilt that I’m not tired at ‘bed time’ - can I not even do that right??

However, I’m finally starting to allow myself to accept that it’s ok not to go to bed at 10pm. My brain is alive at 10pm, so maybe, just maybe, I can let it be so.

When I did my Masters when the kids were little, my sweet spot for essay writing was 10pm until 2am. I had a little cubby at the bottom of the stairs and I would type away in the silent hours, listening to their soft dream breaths floating in the air whilst I worked. A cup of tea and a single glass of red wine to accompany me, I found my little slice of peace. I’m not sure how I did that with a full time highly demanding job and young kids but the point is my body likes those hours. It always has. Be it an orderly moment with tea and toast or creative chaos with sport on in the background, my body likes this time.

When I brought my studies into the daytime back then…it was not received well.

A revelation

A couple of months ago I met up with fellow Substacker and

Suzy Walker

Heartleap member

Ruth Sutton

. We got to talking about all sorts - and I began lamenting my wide-eyed and hooked-nosed owlery and explained my eternal strive for larkdom. Ruth stopped me in my tracks and questioned: why didn’t I just allow myself to be an owl? I don’t have young kids anymore and I work as a writer. I set my own schedule, and manage my own time to a degree…so why was I still clinging onto thinking I had to be a lark?

Wow. Why indeed? Maybe it’s ok to be an owl.

It’s ok to be an owl.

Ooh. It’s ok to be an owl.

That simple conversation has been quite transformative for me (thank you Ruth) and since then I’ve started allowing my inner owl to fly and sleep as she needs.

So now even though I may get up before 9am, I allow my actions to be very gentle. To drink tea, read; perhaps join a writing hour in a safe space with friends. I don’t organise anything before 10am. I may then go to the lake for a swim, and eat when my body is ready - which is generally not before 11am.

I’ll write a bit, maybe have a couple of meetings, go for a walk, let myself snooze. I’ll ramp up into my productivity phase in the afternoon and intersperse teenage life as it rolls in and out, and after 9pm when everyone has dispersed, if I want to write I will write. I’ll go into my zone. Without guilt. I will go to bed at 1am or 2am with a full heart and a sense of peace, knowing it’s ok to be tired in the morning, because I can reduce the demands on me at that time. I can come around slowly. My head can bury itself under my wing until it’s ready to arise.

I will let Athena’s owl guide me as a night time guardian of the liberal arts. I’ll leave it to others to catch the worms.

I will be wise. I will be true.

T’whit t’woo 🦉💕

Which are you?

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Are you an owl or a lark? Are you one but have wanted to be the other? Does your life circumstance permit you to live as your true circadian bird?

I’d love to hear

As always

Love & lemons 💕🍋

Em xx