An Elder of the Tribe

A few days ago I stumbled across a fascinating video that asked a question I'd never really considered.

How did our ancestors sleep safely out in the open when lions, wolves, and every other predator seemed to own the night?

The video suggested something beautifully simple.

The elders fell asleep first (8-9pm)

The middle-aged adults stayed awake a little longer. (midnight to 1am)

The younger members of the tribe were night owls, finally turning in sometime after 2 or 3am.

By the time the youngest drifted off, the elders were naturally beginning to wake. Someone was always tending the fire. Someone was always talking quietly. Someone was always moving around camp. This wasn't dictated. There were no rules setting up this structure. As we age, or natural circadian rhythms change.

According to the video, there were only brief moments when everyone was asleep at the same time.

I don't know if every detail is historically accurate. Anthropologists have studied sleep in traditional hunter-gatherer societies, and there is evidence that people naturally keep different sleep schedules, creating overlap throughout the night. Whether it worked exactly the way the video described, none of us can really know.

But the idea grabbed me.

Because lately...

I've been fighting my own clock.

For years I thought something was wrong with me.

10:15pm would roll around, and I'd be ready for bed.

Not midnight.

Not eleven.

For the last few years, it's been 10:15pm. And lately, it's sometimes closer to 9pm.

I'd crawl into bed feeling guilty, like I was somehow becoming boring.

Then, almost without fail, I'd wake up around four in the morning.

Wide awake.

No alarm.

No grogginess.

Just...ready.

And like so many people, I'd lie there trying to force myself back to sleep because society has convinced us that waking up at four must mean something is broken.

Maybe it doesn't.

Maybe I'm simply becoming...

...one of the elders.

I laughed when that thought crossed my mind, but the more I sat with it, the more it made sense.

In my early years, I was the young guy who could stay up until two in the morning without thinking twice.

Now?

I'd much rather enjoy an early dinner, have a good conversation with friends, crawl into bed before ten, and wake while the rest of the world is still quiet.

There's something magical about those early morning hours.

The coffee tastes better.

The air feels different.

The phone isn't buzzing.

Nobody expects anything from you yet.

It's just you and the sunrise.

Instead of seeing that as a sign that I'm getting old...

I'm starting to see it as a promotion.

Every stage of life comes with a different rhythm.

When we're younger, we're explorers. We push boundaries. We stay out too late. We collect stories.

As we age, our role changes.

We're the ones who know where we've been.

We're the ones who have experience.

We're the ones younger people eventually turn to when life gets messy.

Maybe our bodies know that before our minds do.

Maybe that's why we wake before dawn.

Maybe we're simply wired to greet the day first.

I've stopped trying so hard to "fix" my sleep schedule.

If my body says it's bedtime at 9:15, I listen.

If it says it's time to start the day at four in the morning, I make coffee.

I've learned that fighting my own biology rarely ends well.

There's another lesson hiding in all of this.

We spend so much of our lives trying not to get older.

We color the gray.

We hide the wrinkles.

We apologize for going to bed early.

We joke about needing naps.

But what if aging isn't something to resist?

What if it's something to step into?

There is a quiet confidence that comes with becoming an elder.

You've survived heartbreak.

You've made mistakes.

You've reinvented yourself.

You've lost people you loved.

You've learned which battles matter and which ones never did.

That wisdom wasn't free.

You earned every bit of it.

So if you're finding yourself heading to bed earlier than you used to...

If you're waking before sunrise...

If your body is pulling you toward a rhythm that twenty-five-year-old you would never have understood...

Maybe don't fight it.

Maybe smile.

Pour another cup of coffee.

Watch the sunrise.

And remember...

The tribe still needs its elders.