Why a Hot Tub Would Make Me (But Maybe Not You) a Better Person

I set my alarm for seven hours and twenty-three minutes from when I go to sleep every night.  It’s the exact amount I need to get through the day without needing a nap.

My parents told me that when I was a kid, I’d wake up every morning in an amazing mood and a large smile on my face.

I am no longer a kid.  I’ve seen things.  I’ve learned about the world.  And when I my alarm goes off, I rarely want to be a participant in it.  At least not yet.  Just give me an hour or so….

This problem is coupled with the fact that I rarely need to rush to get out of bed.  I work by my own schedule, which is, as you’d expect, a lovely blessing and a wretched curse. I can just work a bit later if I get a later start.

I could lay here for another 30 min, and it wouldn’t have the slightest impact on the rest of the world. Of course, it might have a little impact on me.  I’d feel like I was a smudge lazier.  I’d know I could have accomplished more in the morning, and that my lunch break could have been more deserved.  I’d overall feel like less of an accomplished human.

But post-alarm sleepiness has a mystical power to it that competes even with the sirens of old.  The future is obscure — a blur like the dream just now — it’s not certain you’ll ever truly regret sleeping a little longer.  It’s unclear what exactly there is to do anyway.  But the gentle embrace of the sheets, the way the pillow so delicately cradles your head — these are certainties.  And don’t you want a life of certainties and stability?

But then I'd remember the hot tub.  It’s a blissful world between the world of sleep and the world of full productivity.  The chilly morning air I’d need to wade through to get to the hot tube would begin to wake me up, and I’d only voluntarily expose myself to it knowing it was about to be poetically juxtaposed by liquid warmth.  In fact, even after I get the hot tub cover off, I typically soak in the cold for a few more seconds. Knowing that the cold will end soon is the only reason I’m able to not just endure it, but enjoy it. Woah that’s deep. I’d put my hand in the water, a little trailer of what’s to come. Steam would blow against my cold body (please imagine my body with a six pack to get the whole vision). And then the moment I’ve been waiting for.

I’m actually a wimp when it comes to heat, so the first few seconds of my getting into the hot tub would be utter torture. But the beautiful kind. In just a minute or two, everything chin-down would be completely submerged, and I'd get little flashbacks of simpler times as a fetus.

But I’m an adult now, or at least a very large fetus. People expect more than heartbeat from me. Things need to get done. But in this hot tub, I’m okay with that. I’d have a little hot-tub tray, and I’d pull out my iPad and catch up on the daily tragedies of the world and answer some emails. Pure bliss. I’m certain the part of the reason I love hot tubs so much is that my extremities are perpetually cold. Probably a lack of blood-flow or something. In the battle between 98.6° and room temperature, room temperature almost always wins out. Sometimes when I wash my hands, I’ll have the warm water running and will just linger my hands there for a bit, chills running down my spine.

I couldn’t stay in the hot tub too long. Pruny epidermis syndrome would start to set in. It’s like an innate alarm clock that I can feel in my skin. Beautiful. I'd step out and put the towel around me, the heat that was that transferred from the hot tub to me still keeping me warm for the short walk back to my mansion. I’d take a quick shower to get the chlorine smell out, get dressed, truly empowered for the rest of the day. Like starting out your day with a morning workout, but without the work.

I’m sure I’d hardly recognize that man. That hot tub Bryan. Someday.

I’m coming for you.