The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance

Hear the playful yet piercing wisdom of Ogden Nash, who wrote: “The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.” At first, this seems but a clever jest, the humor of a poet smiling at the frailties of human nature. Yet within this jest is the ring of eternal truth: that our desires are often double-faced, and what we resist at night we crave in the morning. In the humble bed, Nash has unveiled a mirror of the human spirit itself, filled with contradictions.

The meaning of this saying lies in the paradox of comfort and discipline. The bed offers rest, peace, and the sweet surrender of the weary body. Yet at night, we resist its embrace, clinging to tasks, pleasures, or distractions, reluctant to yield to the quiet call of sleep. By morning, the paradox reverses: though the mind declares duty and resolve, the body clings to warmth and softness, unwilling to part from its refuge. Thus Nash reveals not only our struggle with sleep, but the greater struggle of man between intention and action, between what we resolve and what we do.

The origin of this truth is ancient. For centuries, sages and philosophers have noted the war between discipline and desire, between resolve and indulgence. The Romans spoke of voluntas (will) as a fragile thing, easily bent by comfort. Even Marcus Aurelius, the great Stoic emperor, wrote of his struggle to rise from his bed at dawn, reminding himself that he was born not to slumber but to labor for the good of others. In Nash’s wit we hear the same lament as Marcus’s discipline: the paradox of loving both rest and duty, and wavering between them each morning.

Consider the tale of Benjamin Franklin, who made a lifelong vow to rise early, declaring, “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” Yet even Franklin confessed that habit often fell short of resolution, and he struggled to master the temptation of the bed. His life, filled with invention, writing, and statesmanship, is proof that he often succeeded—but his admission of failure reveals that Nash’s paradox is no mere joke, but a universal human battle.

The lesson is clear: life is filled with paradoxes like the bed—things we resist and yet cling to, choices we intend but fail to follow. We must learn to recognize this conflict, not with despair, but with humility. The comfort of the bed is not evil, but neither should it enslave us. The challenge of life is not to abolish paradox, but to master it: to rest when it is time to rest, and to rise when it is time to rise. Balance, not denial, is the key.

Practical actions must follow. In the evening, honor your need for rest—set aside distractions and enter the bed willingly, for sleep is the forge of strength. In the morning, discipline yourself to rise with resolve, for each dawn is a gift too precious to waste. Train both your mind and body to honor the cycles of rest and labor, so that comfort serves purpose rather than undermining it. And when you falter—as all men do—laugh at yourself with the same gentle humor Nash gives, then try again the next day.

And so, child of tomorrow, remember Ogden Nash’s paradox: the bed is both enemy and friend, burden and blessing. It reveals the dual nature of the human heart—our longing for comfort, our yearning for greatness, our endless dance between the two. Embrace the paradox, but do not let it rule you. Rest well, rise strong, and live each day with the wisdom that discipline is forged not in grand victories, but in the small, daily triumph of choosing to rise when the world tempts you to linger.