Pages, Pillows & Postscript

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I had absolutely no clue what to write about this week.

So instead of forcing some take on business or e-commerce or founders or whatever, I’m going with something much more important:

Reading.

Not because I’m becoming smart or interesting or one of those people who says things like “I’m really enjoying this season of life.”

No. I love reading right now for one primary reason: it puts me to sleep. And I mean that as the highest compliment possible.

Reading in bed has become one of the great cheat codes of my life. It’s like a superpower. Even when I’m wired, even when my brain is buzzing, even when I feel like I should have no chance of falling asleep quickly, reading somehow just shuts the whole operation down.

Take Thursday nights for example. I get home late from improv and I’m fully activated. I’ve been moving around, laughing, yelling, being dramatic, feeling things, doing bits. My heart rate is elevated. My brain is humming. Emotions are flying. And then I get home and have to basically tiptoe into bed in the dark and fall asleep immediately.

There’s not much unwind time on those nights. No long couch decompression. No little tea moment. No “let me journal under candlelight.” I’m going from 100 to zero as fast as humanly possible because I need my 8 hours.

Cael without 8 hours is a disaster.

You do not want him. He’s not funny. He’s not sharp. He can’t do math. He’s moody. He’s worse at texting, emailing, talking, thinking, existing. Just an inferior version across the board.

But Cael with 8 hours? Totally different guy. Much better hang. Much better employee. Much better citizen of the world.

So after improv, getting head to pillow and eyes shut as quickly as possible is mission critical.

And somehow the answer has become reading.

I grab my book, start reading, and usually within minutes - sometimes less - my eyes start fluttering. I don’t fully understand why it works so well, but it calms down my whole nervous system. Everything in my body, and especially my brain, just takes a breath.

That’s what I love about it most. It gives my brain something else to focus on besides me. Instead of replaying the day, thinking about work, inventing future problems, remembering one awkward thing I said four years ago, or doing that classic bedtime activity of mentally reorganizing my entire life, I can just disappear into whatever’s happening in the book.

Sometimes it takes a minute. Sometimes I have to reread the same page three times because I’m still thinking about something else. But eventually it happens. I stop thinking about me and start thinking about the story.

That’s the whole game.

The book does have to be good enough, though. I think that’s the key. It can’t be boring, because then the whole thing feels like homework. But it also can’t be so good that it wakes you up and suddenly you’re ripping through chapters at 12:47 a.m. like a maniac.

This is not the time for psychological warfare. The ideal bedtime book, in my opinion, is just steady. Entertaining. Interesting. Even keel.

Just a book. A story. An interesting person living an interesting enough life that, for 10 or 15 minutes before bed, you’d rather think about them than yourself. Here are my 2026 conquests so far:

Anyways, that’s what I’ve been into lately. Reading not because I’m trying to better myself or become a scholar, but because it absolutely rocks me to sleep.

And I mean that lovingly.

If you’ve got any great bedtime books, send them my way. Nothing too devastating. I’m looking for sleepy, not scarred.

Talk soon,
Cael

P.S. I’m subletting my 1-bedroom on the Upper West Side from late June through mid-August. If you or anyone you know is looking for a spot in NYC for the summer, reply to this email.