Every night we perform a quiet act of faith.
We slide under the covers, dim the lights, close our eyes and surrender. No guarantees. No signed contract with tomorrow. Just a soft, unspoken hope that morning will find us again.
And yet we set an alarm.
It’s almost comical when you think about it. The audacity. The optimism. The deeply human insistence that of course there will be a tomorrow that requires our presence at 6:30 a.m. sharp. That emails will need answering. Coffee will need brewing. Life will continue, and we will be there for it.
Except, I don’t set an alarm.
I never really have.
Somewhere along the way, I developed a quiet trust in my internal clock. A kind of embodied knowing that whispers, you’ll wake up when you need to. And I do. Almost eerily so. It’s as if my mind and body have entered into their own little handshake agreement with the future. We’ve got this.
Maybe that’s what the alarm really is. Not just a tool, but a psychological comfort. A backup plan against uncertainty. A small attempt to control the uncontrollable. Because sleep, when you really think about it, is a daily leap into vulnerability. We unplug. We disappear for hours. We let go.
And still we prepare for tomorrow.
There’s something beautifully defiant about that. Even those of us who don’t press “set alarm” are still, in our own way, setting intentions. Trusting rhythms. Believing in continuity.
So whether you rely on a blaring iPhone alarm or a finely tuned inner metronome, the act is the same. We expect to wake up. We plan for it. We build lives that assume our own return.
A little irrational?
Maybe.
But also deeply, profoundly human.
Categories: Culture, current events, identity, mental health, Psychology
psychologistmimi 
I wake at the same time almost every day, maybe a 30 minute variation. Just years of work my body is in that flow. It did not really change much in retirement.
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I wake up many times a night, and finally get up at some point. I have the opposite problem right now: I don’t want to be up.
The physical challenges are too large, and too much out of my control – I’m in a rehab facility, and there is a lot of pain and considerable lack of autonomy.
I only want to finish the third novel in my trilogy, Pride’s Children: LIMBO – and find myself struggling even to give it my half-hearted efforts on the semi-good days. I don’t like my lack of ambition and my attitude (actually, side-effects of my parathyroid problem most likely). I need wins, and they have been few and far between (haven’t sold a book in months).
I lack agency – is this how it’s going to end? I tell myself the prognosis is good for getting a lot of myself back with the next surgery – and have a hard time believing it.
So, getting up just starts the day’s clock, and right now means frustration.
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Lovely write. I have begun to set I lost confidence in my internal clock.
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ALARM CLOCK! such a modern way
of life Dear Miriam and Kudos to You
On Your Self-Reliance even for one
who doesn’t get much sleep to wake up
on Your Own Free Agency without that Shot
of Adrenaline that One of only Two Innate Fears
of Humans Yes Loud Noises along with Heights Yes
Naturally Brings
And Additionally
of Course on top of
That Early Morning
Hours are Peak Hours
for Potential Heart Attacks
With Plaque Filled Arteries
As Our Bodies Release a Surge
of Cortisol the Stress Hormone along
With Adrenaline as that of course is exacerbated
By Waking Up
With a Very
LOUD
ALARM
CLOCK
Perhaps better
Suited to if
there is a
Fire to Escape
i Prefer a gentle touch
from my apple watch
if there is any reason
at all to wake up from
a relaxing Nap Never Worried
About the Future at all JUST NAP
now
yes
quietly
as such
Pressing the
Snooze Button
or Stopping the Gentle touch…
It’s always now anyway Clock is
even too restrictive of a term for time
as CLocK
Naturally
Provides a Lock
No Thanks No Hands
‘Mom’ Wings Only Free
For me hehe
With apple
watch if need be..:)
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