In Defense of Sleepless Nights

It’s 4:42 in the morning as I write this. My home is nearly empty; most of my belongings are packed away in boxes. At the end of this month, I’ll be moving to a writing house I bought for myself, a place where soon, I’ll spend several days a week working on my books and articles.

I woke up around 3:30 this morning, likely due to the long to-do list swirling in my mind — mortgage advisor, notary, house transfer, painter, handyman, movers. The night was short. Too short, as I know from the many books and articles published over the past decade about the consequences of sleep deprivation. They explain in detail what happens in your brain and body, and I am well aware of the warnings: sleep deprivation can make driving as dangerous as being under the influence of alcohol. Moreover, it increases the risk of cardiovascular diseases by raising blood pressure and inflammation levels in the body, and it can affect cognitive functions, leading to difficulties with concentration, memory, and decision-making. There is little doubt that these arguments are valid.

Yet, I find myself increasingly convinced that the depth of such facts calls for a counterbalance that embraces breadth — a broader, more holistic perspective. From such a perspective, while poor sleep is indeed not ideal, it can also signify a valuable transitional period in life. For me, personally, the shortest nights always represented a time when I truly felt alive, whether due to exciting developments or painful experiences: after all, feeling pain is one profound testament to living fully. I have experienced poor sleep in my life through the many nights spent with a young, feverish child curled up next to me, during my mother’s serious illness, through my own heartbreak, and from breaking the heart of the man I loved.

I also slept incredibly poorly whenever I fell in love, after giving big lectures or book-performances on a grand stage, or after long, daunting days of rock climbing (that terrified me, but that, in hindsight, I wouldn’t want to have missed.)

How the sciences became fragmented

The phrase “poor sleep is not good for you” feels empty when viewed through the lens of these deeply human experiences, too easily pulled from context to carry weight. So here is my counter argument: many causes of restless sleep are part and parcel of what it means to lead a rich human life.

It’s not only in sleep research that we tend to think about what matters to people in a deep and narrow, but decontextualized way. Over time, the sciences have become increasingly specialized and technical, often moving away from broader, philosophical inquiries. In the past, disciplines like philosophy and neuropsychology frequently engaged with profound questions about what constitutes a good life. Today, however, academic papers tend to focus more on intricate details and niche topics that are primarily accessible to immediate experts within the field. This shift reflects a tendency toward fragmentation, where overarching human questions are overshadowed by a preoccupation with technical minutiae that resonate only within the confines of specialized discourse.

Should I allow myself to be overly concerned with the true, but rather narrow, deeply technical argument that little sleep is “bad,” I would likely spend the rest of this day acutely aware of my fatigue. However, when I connect that argument to a broader context — that I’m losing sleep because I’m so thrilled about a recent decision I made for myself to pursue my writing — there’s nothing I can do but smile. And later, when I return to nights of eight hours, I will look back and remember that during this time, I lay awake — fully alert but utterly happy — in my bed. That, to me, is a life well lived.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.