The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at seven-thirty

In the witty yet profound words of Jean Kerr, playwright and observer of human nature, there glimmers a truth wrapped in humor: “The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at seven-thirty in the morning feeling just plain terrible.” Though born of jest, her words reveal something far deeper about the nature of modern life — a quiet satire on the weariness of the human spirit in an age of routine and responsibility. Beneath the laughter lies recognition: that even those deemed healthy, even those considered well-adjusted, awaken not in joy but in fatigue. For Kerr, this was not despair, but irony — a gentle reminder that the world’s definition of “normal” is not always the same as well-being.

To understand her wisdom, one must first see the era from which it came. Jean Kerr, writing in mid-20th century America, lived amidst the rise of suburban comfort and societal expectation. The ideal life — a home, a family, a stable career — was celebrated as the pinnacle of success. Yet beneath that glittering surface, many felt an invisible emptiness: the dull ache of monotony, the quiet erosion of purpose beneath the weight of daily obligation. Kerr, with her sharp humor, held up a mirror to this truth. The average man or woman, she suggested, wakes each day not with the zeal of creation but with the burden of continuation — healthy in body perhaps, but weary in spirit.

The ancients would have understood her meaning, though they would have expressed it differently. The philosophers of old, like Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, warned that to live without reflection is to live half-asleep. They saw that society often teaches men to function, not to flourish — to conform, not to awaken. The man who rises each morning out of duty alone, they said, is a captive who calls his chains comfort. Kerr, though writing with laughter instead of lament, reminds us of this same truth: that many who seem well-adjusted are simply well-conditioned to endure a life that does not feed the soul.

To say that the “average, healthy adult” feels “terrible” upon waking is, in part, a commentary on modern disconnection. We live apart from the rhythms of nature — our light is artificial, our labor mechanical, our rest uneasy. We measure our lives in hours and deadlines rather than in sunrise and song. The body may sleep, but the mind remains restless, burdened by the noise of unfinished tasks and unspoken desires. Thus, even the so-called healthy rise weary — for health, as Kerr’s irony reveals, is more than the absence of disease; it is the presence of peace.

Consider the story of Henry David Thoreau, who fled the machinery of his age to live beside Walden Pond. He too saw that the average man, though surrounded by comfort, lives in quiet desperation. Thoreau rose with the dawn not to punch a clock, but to greet the sun, to hear the rustle of leaves, to feel the pulse of existence. To him, true health was the harmony between body, mind, and spirit — the awakening not only of the limbs but of the soul. Kerr’s humor and Thoreau’s seriousness spring from the same root: that life, without reflection and connection, numbs us into a waking sleep.

Yet, there is no bitterness in Kerr’s observation — only a wry compassion. She speaks not to condemn, but to awaken laughter, and through laughter, recognition. For if we can smile at our own weariness, we begin to loosen its grip. The “terrible” feeling of morning is not a curse, but a call — a sign that something within us longs for change. The ancient teachers would say: when the spirit groans, listen. It is not complaining — it is calling you back to meaning.

The lesson, then, is this: do not settle for being merely well-adjusted to a life that leaves you empty. Rise each day with purpose, not just routine. Seek what stirs your heart, what brings color to your dawn. Take time for quiet before the noise begins; step outside, breathe deeply, and feel the world awakening around you. If you feel weary, do not despair — for weariness is the beginning of wisdom, the first recognition that you were made for more than mere survival.

So remember Jean Kerr’s timeless jest: “The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at seven-thirty in the morning feeling just plain terrible.” Let it remind you, with a smile and a spark, that to live a full life, one must go beyond the average. Health is not just the body’s vigor — it is the spirit’s aliveness. Therefore, awaken not only to the day, but to yourself. Laugh at your fatigue, rise above your routine, and choose to live, not merely to function. For even in humor, there lies the wisdom of the ancients — that the truest health is found not in being “well-adjusted,” but in being fully alive.