If you ask me what I’d change about myself, I don’t have to think long. I wouldn’t pick something dramatic like being ten years younger or suddenly eating vegetables without negotiating with myself like a toddler. I wouldn’t even go with something noble like “greater patience” or “a calmer spirit,” even though those would absolutely help.
No—if I could change one thing, I’d fix the part of me that believes I can cheat time.
Not the cosmic, philosophical version of time. I’m talking about the everyday math of minutes and hours—the part of life that says, “Hey pal, you have to be up at 5:45. Maybe start shutting things down?”
This is the voice I ignore nightly.
Because something happens to me after 9:00 PM. The house gets quiet. The dogs finally flop down somewhere and stop shadowing me. Daryl drifts off. The school day is behind me. And suddenly the world narrows to this peaceful, productive bubble. I love that bubble. I thrive in that bubble.
Unfortunately, that bubble always lies.
It tells me I have more time than I do.
I start with something innocent like tweaking tomorrow’s board setup or reviewing one more set of student paragraphs. Then maybe I’ll finish a bourbon tasting note—because “it’ll only take a few minutes.” Then I remember I wanted to revise a line or two in my blog draft. And oh yeah, I should update that one section of the yearbook assignment. By this point, I convince myself I’m on a roll.
Then I glance at the clock and it says 11:52 PM.
Every. Single. Time.
And here’s the ridiculous part: I know better. I’ve lived 50-plus years with this brain. I know exactly how this story ends. But there’s something about late-night quiet that feels like borrowed time—like I’m stealing back a piece of the day that ran away from me.
If I could change anything, it would be that voice inside me that says, “You can totally do one more thing.” Because that voice doesn’t care about Morning Me at all. That voice never has to face first period, or deal with the stack of essays I swore I’d finish, or fight the copier that jams out of pure spite.
But the truth is, I’m not sure I want to change it entirely.
That same stubborn part of me is also the part that gets things written, gets ideas flowing, pours love into my classroom, keeps this blog alive, and helps me show up for the people I care about—even if the timing isn’t always ideal.
So maybe the goal isn’t trading that part of me in for a new model.
Maybe the goal is learning to steer it a little better.
Maybe even getting it to look at a clock once in a while.
But I’ll tell you this: if there’s ever a version of me who wakes up fully rested on a Wednesday, I hope he sits me down and tells me how he pulled off that miracle.
Until then, I’ll probably be up late tonight—doing “just one more thing.”
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
