When I woke up this morning my girlfriend asked me, 'Did you

In the words of the humorist Steven Wright, we hear a jest that glimmers with hidden wisdom: “When I woke up this morning my girlfriend asked me, ‘Did you sleep good?’ I said ‘No, I made a few mistakes.’” Though spoken in the tone of comedy, it contains within it the ancient lesson that even in the quiet of rest, the human heart wrestles with the burdens of imperfection. Sleep, which should be the realm of peace, becomes a mirror of life itself, where even in dreams we stumble, err, and strive.

This quote reveals the paradox of existence: no place, not even the sanctuary of slumber, is free from the weight of error. Yet in saying he “made a few mistakes” while asleep, Wright is not condemning himself, but rather reminding us that human frailty is woven into every fiber of our being. It is not only in waking actions that we falter, but in our thoughts, our imaginings, our restless turning in the night. To recognize this truth with humor is to wield wisdom: for laughter transforms the burden of imperfection into a torch that lights the darkness.

Consider the story of Thomas Edison, who in his restless pursuit of the electric light often dozed at his workbench. Even in sleep, he dreamed of experiments, waking to scribble half-formed ideas, many of which were mistakes. But it was from these countless errors, these “mistakes in the night,” that he carved out invention and changed the world. Just as Wright jested that mistakes follow us even into sleep, so Edison proved that errors, whether in waking or dreaming, can be the fertile soil of creation.

In the ancient world, too, there were whispers of this truth. Aristotle taught that dreams reveal the hidden movements of the soul, and that even in sleep, our errors of thought and desire emerge. To say one “made mistakes” while asleep is to acknowledge that imperfection clings to us always. But it is also to confess that the human condition is not defined by flawlessness, but by the courage to wake anew, to rise from mistakes, and to begin again with the dawn.

The lesson here is profound: one must not fear mistakes, whether made in the brightness of day or the shadows of night. To err is not the enemy of life, but its companion, its sculptor, its silent tutor. The humor of Wright softens the sting of this truth, showing us that if mistakes can be laughed at, they can also be overcome. Thus, laughter becomes a form of wisdom, a balm that turns despair into resilience.

Practically, what should we do with such a teaching? Each morning when we rise, we should acknowledge the imperfections of yesterday—not as chains to bind us, but as stepping stones to guide us. We should greet our mistakes with a smile, as one greets a familiar teacher. And in this spirit, we may ask ourselves: What did I learn from my errors, both in waking and in dreaming? How shall I walk wiser today? By turning mistakes into mirrors, we transform them into maps for the soul.

Therefore, let us take from this quote not only a chuckle, but a sacred reminder: perfection is not the measure of life. To live is to err, to laugh at our frailties, and to rise again with courage. For even if we “make mistakes” in sleep, we wake to a new day where those mistakes can be redeemed, and where laughter itself can lift us higher than despair. Thus do we honor the truth: that every error carries within it the seed of wisdom, waiting to bloom in the soil of a new morning.