By Laura Sessions Stepp
The Washington Post
Sometimes in life it’s best to come clean about something you’ve hidden from all but your closest friends. So here goes: I nap at work.
Not every day, not even every week. But once in a while, especially when I’m stuck in the middle of writing a long feature, I’ll slip downstairs to The Post’s health center for a 20-minute snooze.
I didn’t know anyone else in the newsroom napped there until a colleague revealed at a recent staff meeting that he did. As our co-workers raised amused eyebrows, I couldn’t let him hang out there alone. High time, I thought, for us to let the rest of the world in on an easy way to reduce workplace irritation and improve performance.
So I announced my secret little pleasure, at which point my boss cheerily agreed not to fire me ó as long as I would come out of the closet and write this article.
There’s little dispute that Americans are sleep-deprived, and our bodies know it. As our circadian rhythms decline midday, some of us have little choice but to doze.
In the 1700s, essayist Samuel Johnson said one doesn’t take a nap, a nap takes you, wherever you happen to be.
A cup of coffee rarely helps. Neither does a Hershey bar or computer solitaire. A brisk walk outside provides a momentary boost, but nothing is as immediately restorative as the nap.
I used to tell myself, when infected by the sleep bug on a deadline day, that I couldn’t afford the time. I learned that that is precisely the moment when I should give in.
The first person I saw slumbering at work, years ago, was an editorial page editor at another newspaper. This man, in his mid-40s, would close the door to his glassed-in office, lie down on the floor, put his feet up on a chair or couch, and fall promptly asleep. Sometimes he closed the curtains to his office, and sometimes he didn’t. My pals and I would take turns sauntering by to sneak peeks.
The editor told us he was lying down in the afternoon because he had a bad back. “Yeah, right,” we thought. But years later, that was what I told the nurses who ran our health center after I had back surgery.
I kept returning to lie down even after my lumbar vertebrae healed ó and the nurses never said a thing. One sweetheart even offered occasionally to spread a blanket over me.
At one point, the nurses started requiring visitors to sign a log and state their reason for the visit. I panicked. How could I comply and keep my secret safe? I compromised, writing in my name but not the rationale.
A researcher at Boston University says 70 percent of workers nap on the job ó and some feel they have to hide in bathrooms or stairwells to do so. They are probably correct: Snoozing may enhance recall and boost creativity, but it does not exactly improve one’s chances for a promotion.
There are, however, encouraging signs of change.
Google offers quiet spaces called “nap pods.” Pizza Hut International allows employees to nap on their breaks. Even washingtonpost.com, our sister company, has a nap room, although I’m told no one has ever seen anyone napping there.
The Post infirmary has only two tiny rooms, each with a twin bed, one or both of which can be occupied at any given time by someone who is actually infirm.
Which leads me to the only reason I could think of NOT to write this story. Once word about this little sleep hideaway gets out, my colleague and I may have to stand in line to take naps.
What have I done?
AP-NY-04-29-08 1238EDT