The other morning, Ana asked me to wake her up at 7 a.m. because the contractor was coming at 9. Naturally, my brain went straight into logic mode: Two hours? For what?!
She’s not driving anywhere. A quick shower, a cup of coffee and boom: she’s ready to roll. Thirty minutes, tops.
So, being the thoughtful and efficient husband I am… I let her sleep until 8 a.m. Big mistake. Huge, actually!
When I woke her up, she looked at me like I had just unplugged her from life support: eyes half-closed, hair doing things that defied physics, and an expression that said, “You have fundamentally misunderstood how humans work.”
“Roger,” she groaned, voice thick with disbelief, “I told you seven because I need to snooze a couple of times first for my soul to return to my body. Then I shower, have my coffee in the backyard, and then I’m human again.”
Standing there, watching Ana explain the sacred ritual of the snooze button, I realized I’d been making the same mistake with my own life since I planted roots in Tampa Bay.
The Wake-Up Call That Took Two Years
When I moved to Florida, I thought I was waking up from the overworked Boston life. I pictured myself slowing down, more sunshine, less stress, maybe even watching the grass grow (and the motorized shades glide open in the morning light) without feeling guilty.
Instead, I hit snooze and dove right back into the grind.
One year into my “Florida dream,” I found myself standing in the garage at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday, surrounded by soggy hurricane-damaged window treatments, city permit paperwork scattered across the workbench, and three client emergencies lighting up my phone.
Sweat dripping off my forehead onto a quote I was trying to finish before midnight. And I thought: Wait a minute. This looks exactly like my old life, just hotter and humid.
Two years of business transitions, hurricanes, reconstruction, tight deadlines, and “just one more project” opportunities…
The so-called Florida dream had turned into a rerun of my Massachusetts reality: same stress, same rush, same hamster wheel. But this time, sunnier.
Blind Spot Moment
I moved 1,200 miles south thinking geography would change my pace. But I packed my old patterns right alongside my tools and a few too many samples of roller shades and plantation shutters while I was at it.
Now, I get it. Florida wasn’t meant to be another race. It was meant to be a recharge. My version of the snooze button.
A place to slow down, let my soul return to my body, and remember what the whole hustle and all those window covering installations were for in the first place.
Learning to Honor the Snooze
These days, I’m practicing the art of slowing down. I take my coffee in the backyard and watch the sunrise filter through our sheer shades.
I watch the light shift across the room and remind myself that not everything needs to be motorized (especially me). And I’ve learned to say no to projects that feel like old habits dressed up as new opportunities.
Because here’s what Ana taught me that morning:
Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is nothing at all.
Sometimes you have to hit snooze a few times before you’re truly awake, alert, and alive.
Never Stop Learning
The hardest lesson isn’t how to work harder. It’s how to stop working the same way and start living differently.
So yeah! Sometimes you don’t wake up when the alarm goes off. More often than not, it takes hitting snooze a few attempts before you remember who you wanted to be when you set that alarm in the first place.
Roger – Professional Window Dresser and Retired Snow Shoveler