Day 4 of NZFW, and I’m beginning to understand the limitation that is tiredness. Much alike to navigating the kitchen, it’s something I should have learned a long time ago. Being stubborn, I chose instead to let my parents argue with the bags under my eyes for years. My 7 year old self was still not convinced.
She dabbled in the practice until about 3am when her eyes would flash open and she would deem it time to get ready. She’d have about 3 hours to clean up her room and play with her toys, then, to wake up and ready her sister too. She’d done about 10 things before others had even thought of rising for the day.
Not rarely, one of those 10 things would be completed too loudly, calling her Dad into the overly-lit room for the fourth time that week. She’d look up at him with a massive grin, more awake then even the hanging clock-face. Of course, she struggled to fathom the frown he adorned – even more so, to accept the early hour as a reason to go back to bed.
At 18, I, the same girl, do few things differently. I still wake at what most would call an ungodly hour. If I do sleep in until 9am – this only happens when I’m seriously tired – I’m frustrated at having lost one of the best parts of the day. I attempt to convince myself that sleep is valuable too, though these arguments never are completely settled.
The problem is, while I enjoy sleep, I also consider it a waste of what’s potentially more enjoyable awake. To me, sleep is like one of those ever-unsatisfied entities; we could spend our lives trying to fill the tank just to be consistently 3/4 of the way. For I don’t like to be half-hearted, I find myself choosing not to participate much at all.
But now, I’m damn sick of being drained. For the past few nights last week, we (Tony and I) had been staying up until about 2am, and beginning our days again at 6.30am. These were not your average days either. Breaks were non-existent, and if they did occur, they were characterised by writing, editing and posting.
While I have no regrets – sacrificing sleep allowed me to both enjoy after-parties and report relevant NZFW news – I’d be lying if I said the effects didn’t grow obvious, even to myself. When I am tired, I am not myself. Instead, I am a lesser version. My personality fades, inclusive of my likelihood to laugh, to joke and to show enthusiasm. Such that usually excites or rivets me is without it’s usual essence.
It is the very bane of my existence: that I desire to spread a passion for life, but don’t recover my own energy enough to do so. At a situation like Fashion Week, the bane becomes most-dominant. If anything is significant to my being there – in fact, anywhere – it’s interaction. It’s not solely an opportunity to network as much as it is also a chance to link with people we may never otherwise.
How disappointing even the concept of being half-hearted is.
But how do we possibly put our all into everything that is offered? Must we balance what we do with what we don’t – and take this time to sleep? Typically, I’d argue that life is short. Fashion Week is one of those situations which simply doesn’t offer the opportunity of sleep. There is so much going on, one couldn’t possibly close their eyes. As Eric Thomas states in Secrets to Success (or my bible), if you sleep, you miss the opportunity to be successful.
But perhaps there is such a thing as detrimental sacrifice which Thomas and I have failed to consider (watch me as I put both our names together in the same sentence – nice). Giving up shit simply can’t be all positive all the time. At some stage, sacrificing sleep must act as a potential hindrance towards our success too?
Is there a stage then, where we must stop deeming every situation as too significant for sleep? Instead, shall we ever actually acknowledge it’s value?
Indeed, I am learning – and have been learning since I moved out – the different ways to which I am mature, and too, the ways in which I am so very not. For I struggle to say no to myself, I am not. For I still don’t know when to stop, I am also not. I figure this could be a turning point. My tendency to give up sleep is (finally) starting to disrupt my plans. As I said more recently, I fell sick like I haven’t for years. If lack of sleep is what’s stopping me from throwing myself into life and amongst people to the extent I am capable, then, it’s time to change it. I must stop accepting tiredness as a state of being.
I’m not going to start sleeping in; this is not something I want to do. I will, however, work more productively, and at times, say yes to quiet nights if they do equate for epic days. It’s not solely during Fashion Week, but from Monday to Friday, Saturday and Sunday, whereby I need my full self. I need my outgoing personality; the one which loves to talk to people, to share opinions, and to inspire. What will frustrate me in those moments is not having the energy to exude her. I owe it to my 7 year old self, to my 18 year old one, and finally, to all the people whom I could and can create memories with – to, well, get some fucking sleep.
Photos: Two Dark Coffees