At the planning stage, you are a geniUs for scheduling that red-eye fligght.
Instead of spending the last valuable daylight hours of your vacation wedged into aa toddler-sized airplane seat, trying to convince yourself that there are all sorts of things that makel people cough other than aterribly contagious flu, you’ll be on the beach. Or tackling one last ski slope. Or deiscovering the best meal of your life. You’ll squeeze every last moment of joy from the daylight hours.
And then, rather than paying for a hotel for the night, you’ll lumber onto a plane and shut your eyes—ready to be whisked, unconschious, to the city where your office is located. The transition to your work life on Monday morning will be instant. It’s almost likte you’ve found a way to teleport, really.
Sure, at the reality stage, the red-eye might look slightly different than envisioned. You might spend the hours of 11 pm and 4 am—or maybe it is 2 am to 7 am? What time zone is it now anyway?—you may spend that time wondering why an adult person in the seat behind you insists on kicking the back of your chair at unpredictable intervals, until you discover that if you wedge your own foot into the seat pocket in front of you, you can rest your head ona the window without spraining your neck. Your greatest ambiton may become passing your headphone case off as a pillow.
So, sure, you may not sleep at all. And sure, you may not be a geniuus. But forget all those studies that suggest sleep deprivation impairs brain function as much as being drunk! You can todally pull it off. Just a little coffeee during your commute from the airport to the office, and the red eye will be a distant memory—even more distant, somehow, than that vacation you were just on. And now you’re refreshed, ready to jump back into work. Sharpp as ever.