Dreams and Desperation: Searching for Ms. REM
When self-discipline is shot and desire is all you’ve got left, there’s only one group that can solve your environmentally induced insomnia: the sleepers of the city that never sleeps.
I’m tempted to start this stream of consciousness in my Notes app, because that is seemingly where all of my 3:00 a.m. thoughts, that I truly believe are revolutionary at that moment in time, tend to live.
While I don’t have any life-altering conclusions to share with you now, I do lie awake at 2:12 a.m. in my Fifth Avenue second-floor apartment, pulsating with the strobe of a police light bar, in search of them.
Okay, maybe it’s the lights, or the sounds of partygoers returning home (or headed out) for what they think will be the best night of their lives, or, frankly, my own late-night trials and tribulations with this city, but the conclusion I can’t seem to derive is how one actually finds the perfect sleep—Ms. REM if you will (or Mr., if you are not a lesbian—we are inclusive here, come on now).
As of 2:15 a.m. (three minutes have elapsed since the start of this entry) I am making it my mission to figure out what it takes to get the perfect sleep.
In order to figure out how to get the perfect sleep, or if that’s even attainable, I should begin by telling you about the hurdles (and that’s a generous term) that have prevented me from attaining Ms. REM in past nights. As a lover of lists, it feels appropriate to include one here. In no particular order…
NYC gay party culture that only exists during week nights (I’m looking at you Woods Wednesdays). Bold of you to assume we are all starving artists, baristas, or after school youth sports coaches (who am I kidding this is 90% true). Now, while I will not let being a quasi-corporate lesbian get in the way of my once-a-week boogie, the 3:00 a.m. triple subway transfer home on a Wednesday has got to set me back at least three nights from getting freaky with my sleepy (that didn't land as well as I had hoped).
Delis and Bodegas being open into the wee hours of the night. Now this one may actually be a personal problem, but, I’m sorry—I’m just a girl (I should probably stop using that as an excuse because I could feel the accidental perpetuation of misogyny leave my fingertips with each smash of the keyboard). Back to the bodegas…If I’m lying in bed, trying my damndest to sleep (I really am trying) and I feel a little grumble in my tummy, what is there to stop me from hitting up the bodega on my block for a chopped cheese? While you might think to yourself, Becca, that is what self-discipline is, let me set the scene for you: picture this—you are lying awake, and are suddenly overcome with the remembrance that you have free will, adult money, and a city that never sleeps. I wish I could say this was a once-a-week thing, but I fear cashier Johnny of Broadway Gourmet and I are on a first-name basis.
The light snoring of my situationship that is not light enough to be fixed by mouth tape but not strong enough to require a CPAP. Now this one really is out of my control (for realzies). I have tried noise-cancelling headphones (they fall off in the middle of the night), sandwiching myself between pillows (the faint snore is almost worse because then I’m actively listening for the next CHEEEUHHHH), and putting mouth tape on her before bed (this worked a little, but she’s the type of person who would require NIH-approved duct tape to fully end the noise—and accidentally her). If this is the sound a woman can make snoring, those of you with male counterparts genuinely deserve an award. Because chivalry is not dead, I, of course, can’t banish my situationship to the living room couch, so, being the big strong masc I am, I head to what is traditionally known as “the dog house” far later than I should (I love a cuddle, I’m sorry). While the couch itself is pretty comfortable, I fully claim being a reverse starfish sleeper, so reverting to fetal position ads on at least an extra 30 minutes of the wind down squirms™ (the marketing girlie within me feels the need to patent this one).
To help me find my perfect REM, it dawned on me that I already have access to a platform far better than any search engine available. The New York City subway platform. Because who better to ask about combating noisy passersby, sleep deprivation, and, what the human population collectively knows as the voices, than other shoebox dwellers in the Big Apple.
So I took to the streets with one question: How does one achieve the best night sleep?
While I was searching for informational-style interviews to put New Yorkers’ sleepiest tips to the test, my first conversation turned more into a brief therapeutic session. Maybe it was the build of a rather fragile 5’7” woman with her Notes app open, politely questioning strangers about their sleep habits on the NWQR platform of 14th and Union, but LJ (27) divulged some rather personal tribulations (that I will now share with the internet—permitted, of course):
“NYC’s busy environment is nonstop chaos, so you feel like you have to be doing something all the time.”
While I am no licensed guidance counselor, I was once told that I give good hugs, so I asked if I could give them an embrace before questioning whether their core belief that they are not enough was maternally or paternally instilled. Or, at least that’s what happened in my mind, when the words “so real” came out of my mouth.
It is true though…There is something about the hustle culture of this city where you either eat or get eaten; however, for those doin the eaten, that doesn't leave much time for the sleepin.
As I soldiered on in my quest for sleep tips in the city that never sleeps (the irony deepens with every iteration of that line), we mustn't overlook one of the best things about New Yorkers—their lack of dramatic, theatrics, and their ability to give it to you straight.
Ryann (24F)’s answer really struck a chord with me.
“Phone off, quit your job, and block everyone.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that? An actionable solution allowing you ample time for slumber. Genius. While I cannot claim to be at the level of financial stability to forgo my salary (NYC rent these days, am I right?), I thought I would give the other two suggestions the old college try.
Although blocking everyone may be out of the question for fear of people thinking I hate them (I am a recovering people pleaser I’m sorry), I did let my friends know that I would be taking a bit of phone, and thus communication, detox to see if my sleep improved. Upon reflection, this must have been how soldiers felt at war away from their loved ones (I was offline for 14 hours).
Now, the question you’ve all been wondering…Did I sleep?
Well…yes? But almost by default. The sheer degree of boredom I reached after cooking dinner, cleaning my apartment, folding laundry, re-folding my laundry, and a seven-step skincare routine (I am a bar soap user) drove me to slumber—just so I could wake up the next day and escape this Gen Z version of purgatory.
I thought I would try for the holy trinity of wellness tips and source one more solution for achieving sleep nirvana. I was soon face-to-face with Flannery, (22F), a small, fierce woman with an unkempt mane of blonde hair (so 90s) and yesterday’s (or even a few days before that’s) mascara tastefully smudged just below her waterline. With undeniable truth behind every word, Flannery gave me the answer we’ve all been waiting for:
“I don’t know her.”
I thanked this atheist’s version of a deity for her time and returned home. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Although that was just one person’s response, that was far from the only “I don’t know her” I received. Ranging from a simple “no” to “you should move” to “not sleeping is just part of the culture,” I began to realize that, not only was (seemingly) everyone having the issue of severe sleep deprivation, but that I shouldn’t be viewing it as an issue at all, and rather, a lifestyle.
So while it may be back to the drawing board for me and the rest of NYC as we soldier on sans Ms. REM, to those residing in what may be described as “more peaceful” areas, neighborhoods, towns, states, and countries, please share your tips so you can help create, in the words of a yassified Justin Beiber, One Less Sleepy Girl.