A rainy day on Hilton Head Island is rarely uneventful. Being directly exposed to the North Atlantic, with only modest sand dunes and Palmetto ferns for protection, the island often bears the brunt of unrestrained ocean weather. Rain here is seldom gentle; forecasts frequently warn of severe thunderstorms, wind advisories, and gusts reaching 80 km/h, making the air feel even cooler. When last evening’s forecast promised a stormy day ahead, I made an easy decision: I would forego my usual tricycling and indulge in the rare pleasure of sleeping late.

While retirement ostensibly grants the freedom to do as one pleases, I have nonetheless shaped my days around certain ritual habits—none particularly remarkable, yet each providing a sense of structure. These small daily engagements lend a framework to my routine, ensuring the maintenance of personal order and the readiness to greet the world, should the need arise.

One such habit, carried over from my years of study and professional life, is a regular sleep schedule. My usual bedtime falls between 10 and 11 p.m., with a self-imposed rising time no later than 8 a.m. Waking earlier often feels pointless, and depending on the season, may even rob me of the morning sun’s encouragement. Aging, however, brings its own realities—chief among them an increased need for rest. I often recall my late father, who, well into his ninth decade, would settle into a garden chair on the patio and drift into sleep beneath the warm afternoon light.

Only recently have I discovered the unexpected energy of an afternoon nap. For most of my life, I adhered strictly to the conventional eight-hour sleep cycle, viewing daytime rest as an unwelcome disruption. I feared it would interfere with my ability to sleep at night. But one day, rather than my usual afternoon coffee, I surrendered to a nap. The effect was nothing short of transformative. Upon waking, I felt renewed, as if I had unlocked some hidden reserve of vitality. Life no longer felt like a series of obligations—it was an adventure, a pursuit to be relished. I found myself marveling at how profoundly underrated sleep is, despite its fundamental necessity. This revelation may seem trivial, but for someone who once labored over legal briefs at three in the morning, such a shift in perspective was almost radical.

Yet, despite the newfound appreciation for rest, my afternoon coffee habit often reclaims its place. It was precisely for this reason that, bolstered by the forecast of relentless rain, I resolved to allow myself a morning of indulgent sleep. Predictably, my ingrained habits saw me awake at 8 a.m. sharp. From my bed, I could hear the downpour drumming against the cottage roof and lashing at the windows. I glanced at my iPhone, perused an article from the London Sunday Times sent by an old physician friend in Australia, and then, with uncharacteristic ease, set my phone aside, nestled into my pillows, and surrendered to sleep once more.

Everything unfolded as planned. Though my mind wandered through idle reflections, I ultimately awoke at ten o’clock, victorious in my modest rebellion. This minor delinquency felt like a triumph. I rose feeling refreshed, dressed in clean clothes, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of sprouted toast with raw honey. And, of course, coffee.

Some luxuries are simple, yet they are no less exquisite for it.