A few years ago, I stumbled upon a book titled “Make your Bed.” The title alone was enough to convey its message—simple yet profound. The publisher pitched it as “an attractively packaged gift book, perfect for Commencement, Father’s Day, and the business and military audience.” It didn’t seem tailored for me, but the idea intrigued me nonetheless.
The book was inspired by a speech delivered to graduates by retired Admiral William H. McRaven of the Navy Seals. As someone who leans toward pacifism, military advice isn’t my usual go-to.But “Make Your Bed” felt grounded in practicality. I tried it for a week, made my bed diligently, and then… promptly forgot about it. My old habits crept back in, and the unmade bed became my norm again.
For years, the admiral’s wisdom didn’t resonate with me. It’s a pattern I’ve noticed in my life—I’ll embrace a new habit, like trying aerial yoga or perfecting slow-cooked scrambled eggs, only to revert to my old ways eventually.Self-improvement, it seems, is a slow journey for me.
But life has a way of shifting perspectives.Last year, after a meaningful medical diagnosis, I made permanent changes. I quit alcohol, which I’d relied on for comfort, and embraced a healthier lifestyle. And then, I remembered Admiral McRaven’s words. For the first time in my life, I started making my bed regularly. It turned out to be one of the most unexpectedly impactful changes.
Admiral McRaven’s message is clear: “to rise in the morning and complete the first task of the day will give you motivation to do more. The bed also represents you. Few things in your home are more personal. Making your bed is a reflection of your discipline, your pride, and your personal habits. If you can’t get up in the morning and make your bed, what else are you incapable of doing?”
His point struck me—until the word “incapable.” It felt harsh, especially during a time of medical treatment and mental struggles. Rather of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I chose to celebrate what I could. On days when I managed to get out of bed, I made it. It was a small, controllable act of order amidst chaos. “I made the bed,” I’d tell myself, and it became a quiet victory.
Every morning, I start my day with a simple yet profound ritual: making my bed. It’s not just about tidying up; it’s about setting the foundation for a hopeful, calm, and productive day. If this is the only thing I accomplish, it’s enough. It’s a moment of control in a life that sometimes feels unpredictable.
Telling people your ‘news’ when you get a challenging medical diagnosis can be difficult. I mixed it up a bit.
These days, making the bed isn’t the elaborate process it once was. In my home, the bottom sheet is fitted, eliminating the need for tricky hospital corners. After a brief experiment with a top sheet under the duvet, I decided to ditch that extra layer of effort. Now, “making the bed” is simply smoothing the duvet and repositioning the pillows. But I’ve added a couple of steps,inspired by the kindness of friends.
Sharing news of a challenging medical diagnosis is never easy. I handled it in different ways. Phone calls to siblings were tough, but group texts were easier. I also met some close friends in person,even though I didn’t fully understand what was happening myself.One such meeting took place at a café near Trinity College.over salad and coffee, I explained all I could. My friend, aware of my bad news, arrived with a thoughtful gift: a bedspread crafted decades ago by her mother, Bunny, a skilled craftswoman.Each of Bunny’s children received a bedspread reflecting their unique style and personality.Mine features tartan-patterned raw silk on one side and delicate embroidery on the other.
This handmade bedspread has become a cherished part of my morning ritual. Last July, when I got married, a beautiful pink Donegal tweed blanket—one of many thoughtful wedding gifts—joined the routine.My ongoing medical treatment, though indefinite, has minimal side effects, and I feel strong. Each morning, as I smooth the duvet, arrange the pillows, lay the blanket, and top it with Bunny’s bedspread, I feel a sense of accomplishment. This simple act sets the tone for the day—a tone of hope,calm,and positivity. Thank you, Admiral.
