I’ve never really liked making my bed. I’ve done it when I’ve been in relationships, mainly because my partner expected it. But as a single man, I’ve always thought “Why? No one’s going to see it, and I’ll just have to un-make it latter.”
But in a cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) session I attended a few months ago, the instructor said that making my bed was one of the most effective “mind tricks” I could use at the start of the day. I can see his point. If I don’t make my bed, it’s just too damn easy to crawl in to it. And it’s also too damn easy to look at the disheveled tangle of sheets and equate that to my view of my life, my world, and myself. That’s not exactly a recipe for a good day.
So now, I try to make my bed every morning. I say “try” because there are still days when I don’t. But when I look at my made bed, and my furry pals resting on it, I see some order. I see something that looks, as my mother used to say, “a little more presentable.”
Often, that makes my outlook at little more presentable, too.