Becoming a Type B

Among other labels, I have been told that I have a Type A personality, always busy, no time to rest and that might be true, but I’m trying harder to become more of a Type B personality, taking things as they come and, in fact, I’ve made a big change. When I turned 75, that was a few months ago, making me 75 1/2, I added three words to my daily list that had always seemed rather repulsive to me: “take a nap.” As a Type A, I considered taking a nap synonymous with “wasting twenty minutes” of my already too short day. Not that I had anything against naps, they were fine for other people, the same as rutabagas or liverwurst sandwiches, but not for me.


Part of being a Type A is to do things correctly, so I checked out the proper way to take a nap. Fifteen to thirty minutes is good and guarantees to improve my mood, sharpen my focus, and reduce fatigue and is better than any type of pill. That’s a plus, but if I expand it to a longer time, let’s say forty minutes, then I risk all kinds of health issues and I don’t want more of those, so it might be necessary to set my watch’s alarm, which necessitates a call to a grandchild because setting its alarm is somewhat complicated.

Some people take multiple naps. I remembered that my grandmother nodded off in her chair for her after-breakfast nap and again for her before-lunch nap followed by her mid-afternoon nap. I enjoyed watching her little snoozes as her breathing patterns seemed peaceful and pleasant. It’s one of my dear memories of her.


I don’t nap easily, I sometimes lie down, but my eyes stay open, glued to the wall or the ceiling or something else that captures my attention, but even when I don’t drift off, it is a nice respite, time to collect and reorganize my thoughts. I thought about using a mask, but I’m really not excited about wearing masks inside the house. If I am lucky enough to doze off, I might dream, and dreams are one of life’s mysteries, at least in my world. Although I seldom remember them, they don’t seem to frighten me or make me mad, but I suppose it is always a risk.


America doesn’t have special facilities for naps, like some countries do. Paris has its nap bars, Tokyo has hammock cafés, and Spain has a chain called Siesta and Go. For me, though, it’s enough to just zonk out in a recliner, resting my weary eyes, and working overtime to enjoy every moment of my new-found Type B personality.


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