You should be proud of me because I made the bed this morning. In fact, this is the second day in a row that I made the bed. High fives and back pats all around!
When I was little I didn't make the bed very often, if ever. It felt like a waste of my time and my day. I take a long time to get ready and to ensure that I have everything I need, so all of my energy is dedicated to simply getting out the door clothed and being semi-prepared.
(One time in middle school my parents wrote a note excusing my tardiness because I left my shoes on the roof of the car. We quickly drove to school, since I am often, okay fine, always, late. The shoes flew off. We drove 15 minutes to school. I arrived at school with no shoes. We drove back home and I surprisingly found my shoes in the street in tact. Then we drove 15 minutes back to school. I handed them my extremely odd and hardly excusable note. My dog ate my homework? Nope. I just can't get my life together.)
There always seems to be better things to do than making my bed.
My roommates in college happened to be incredibly gracious (or maybe avoided confrontation) because they rarely, if ever, said anything about my bed, or my mess. I would pile everything onto my bed so it was off the floor during the day. At night, I would pull it off and shove it along the border of my bed to not take up too much space. The next day, repeat procedure.
At some point in the last week or two, I must have grown up a little bit. I realize that in starting my day by making the bed, I am setting myself up to get things done, to make progress, to challenge myself, to achieve goals (or at least attempt to). I mean, if I actually made my bed this morning, then I must be destined for greatness!
Then if my day feels like a waste, I find myself exhausted, and I feel incredibly defeated, I can at least walk into my room, look at my bed, and be reminded that I'm not a complete failure.
Because after 29 years, I have started to make the bed, and even that can be considered a victory.
It's only been 2 days though, and tomorrow I might fall into my old pattern of an unkempt sleeping space. But for today, I get to crawl into a neatly wrapped bed with a down comforter, slightly dirty sheets, and pillow shams. Nothing beats crawling into bed when you get to turn the covers down.
And that can only happen if the bed is actually made.