Absolutely Owls, Absolutely Fowls: Rethinking Productivity, Inclusion, and the Body’s Clock
“When the world expects sameness, look for the outlier. That’s where progress—and people—are hiding.”
For as long as I can remember, the working world has been obsessed with the nine-to-five. Productivity is measured not by output, but by presence—by who can show up at nine o’clock sharp, coffee in hand, eyes given just enough time to lose their sleep. But what if those rules are not just unhelpful, but actively sabotaging some of our best minds? This is not just a theoretical pull for me; it’s a lived experience. My relationship with chronotypes—whether you’re an “owl” or a “fowl”—runs deep, both professionally and personally. The damage done when we ignore our own innate wiring? Immense. But so is the empowerment when we get it right.
That’s why I leapt at the invitation from Joanne Lockwood, host of the Inclusion Bites Podcast—a conversation series I’ve admired for its unflinching approach to inclusion, belonging, and human potential. Joanne doesn’t deal in platitudes. She invites guests who reshape the very definition of “normal”, who bring not just stories but the science and the strategies behind them. A globally recognised advocate for inclusive change, Joanne has created spaces across sectors for deeply human stories to be heard, embraced, and acted upon.
More than [INSERT_VIEW_COUNT] people have already watched our interview on YouTube, with many more tuning in via Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
If this conversation sparks something for you—questions, pushback, or agreement—I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. I read every one.
Challenging the Universal Clock: Where Inclusion Meets Biology
It’s easy to talk about “inclusion” as if it’s about policies or workplace tweaks. As Joanne and I traded stories, the discussion steered rapidly into the lived reality of time itself—how the cultural scaffolding of “normal hours” can be just as exclusionary as outdated HR policy.
Joanne opened with an astute observation: so much of our societal rhythm is anchored by the morning. “My father used to say to me all the time, ‘early to bed and early to rise makes men healthy, wealthy and wise,’” she remarked. But who precisely benefits from an early start, and who does it leave behind? Why do we persist with these proverbs when the science, and lived experience, run deeper and more chaotically than clockwork?
I’ve learned the hard way—after years as a pharmacist, long nights working on hospital wards, and the relentless transcontinental travel that defined the next chapter of my career—that ignoring your body’s rhythm costs you far more than a few yawns. My transition from hospital pharmacy to a consulting role in the pharmaceutical industry meant frequent, sometimes brutal, travel, sometimes shifting eleven time zones in a matter of days. Each trip was an experiment—and an exposure to the limits of my constitution.
As I explained to Joanne, “Australia is the best place in the world to research jet lag. If you’ve ever flown here, you’ll understand why.” The interplay between travel fatigue, jet lag, and the challenge of reconciling biological rhythm with business expectation crystalised for me on a three-day, four-flight odyssey to Buenos Aires. And the thing that saved me wasn’t caffeine or willpower—it was a kilometre-long walk in the Argentinian winter sun. “That sunlight absolutely saved me. Sunlight is a key thing.”
Joanne, ever the pragmatic host, chimed in with her own memories of business travel spanning the globe, reflecting on the difference between flying east and west: “East always did feel like a beast,” she laughed, before quickly probing me on why that simple mnemonic—“east is a beast, west is best”—actually holds up.
Chronodiversity: The Quiet Revolution
We lingered here, Joanne and I, on what I believe is one of the most overlooked dimensions of inclusion: chronodiversity. If you want to know whether your workplace genuinely understands inclusion, ask how it treats owls and fowls. Not just as abstract archetypes, but as valued contributors.
The direction you fly matters. So does the rhythm you naturally embody. “For most people, stretching the day westward is easier,” I said. But here’s the kicker—a pattern that’s never acknowledged in policy circles: not everyone’s the same. “For morning people, going east is much easier. For us night-owls, it’s brutal.” Jet lag isn’t just the punchline of travel anecdotes; it’s a daily reality for anyone fighting their biology in pursuit of ‘normal’ success.
Neither biases nor bodies are new phenomena in inclusion, but the science is clear. The body’s ability to adjust its circadian clock is not infinitely elastic. Pharmaceutically, there are interventions (as my experience with clinical trials of drugs like sildenafil—Viagra—proved, there are always surprises in how we treat jet lag!), but the conversation Joanne and I circled back to repeatedly was simple: how do we build environments that don’t just accommodate difference, but leverage it?
What we have is not a bug to be fixed, but a feature to be harnessed. “Chronodiversity is a feature, not a bug,” I told Joanne. Across cultures and even across evolutionary time, humans have thrived because we don’t all switch off at the same hour; we have morning guardians and midnight sentries, with teens as the night time watchmen, and elders waking with the dawn. The wisdom is embedded in our DNA, ignored at our peril.
When Inclusion Gets Personal—And Political
We can wax lyrical about inclusive theory, but reality bites when policy lags behind science. Joanne recounted the recent outcry in Australia, when a proposed rollback on flexible working nearly marginalised thousands—particularly women—overnight. The backlash was a timely reminder: one-size-fits-all thinking in policy is never neutral. It always privileges some, and marginalises others.
My own liberation came when collaborating with teams in Paris, the hours offset such that my commute and productivity finally aligned with my natural rhythm. “I got to be who I was, and people valued who I was. I want that for everyone.” Joanne was quick to emphasise that societal narratives—about “hardworking larks” and the stigma towards “lazy night owls”—are not just bad for business, but corrosive for culture. When we judge a colleague who strolls in at half past nine, we see only a fragment of a working day—we ignore the invisible late-night hours, the ideas sparked in solitude, the value built after others have clocked off.
Work-from-home accelerated this awakening, forcing managers to focus on outputs, not the choreography of arrival and departure. If your first meeting is at 11:30 am, who cares whether you greeted the sunrise or worked quietly until midnight? This, to me, is the tangible frontier of inclusion in our time.
The Truth About Jet Lag (and Fatigue): Pulling Apart Myth from Mechanism
Of course, no conversation about travel, work, and rhythm can ignore jet lag itself—or the way we conflate it with simple travel fatigue. Joanne pressed for clarity: what is the difference?
It’s a crucial distinction. Travel fatigue is about the sheer physical grind of getting from point A to point B; jet lag is what happens when your internal clock is thrown violently out of sync with your external environment. The classic business warrior who can leap off a red-eye and perform at peak is a fantasy. “The rule of thumb is a day per time zone crossed—so if you fly to Melbourne from London, ten time zones, expect ten days to recover. Maybe a bit less with good strategies, but it’s not nothing.”
For me, the battleground of jet lag is not fought with willpower, but with sunlight—specifically, the right kind, at the right time. It’s why I’ve taken to bringing electronic blue-light glasses, beaming cyan wavelengths directly into my eyes, to hack my clock back into sync. Some people find it as powerful as a shot of espresso; morning people are shocked awake, night owls barely notice. Joanne compared the principle to the “night mode” settings on phone screens—and, crucially, the advice to avoid doomscrolling unsettling blue light before bed.
The lesson here: small interventions matter, but so do the boundaries you set. Every seasoned traveller learns to pick a side. If you’re abroad for two nights, stay on home time. If you’re there to adjust, embrace the new rhythm from day one: “Go one way or the other. Don’t sit on the fence.”
The Cost of Fatigue and the Real Price of Sleep
As the conversation deepened, Joanne and I surfaced something all high-achievers learn too late: lack of sleep is not a badge of honour, but a path to breakdown. I see it everywhere—the executives who brag about four hours a night, or the adrenaline-fuelled tech teams who pull thirty-six hour marathons. But every debt is repaid: in productivity, in mood, in long-term health. “There’s a link between lack of sleep and dementia,” I reminded Joanne. “I take my sleep as absolutely sacred.”
Joanne was candid about the cost. She saw her own productivity window shift as life changed, her days of burning the candle at both ends eventually catching up. Today, she scripts her diary to honour the 9:30–18:30 window, tuning her body to her life’s new realities, refusing the pressure to prove herself by showing up early. “I soon realised there was no benefit to coming in at early o’clock. I might as well start at 10, finish at 8 in the evening, and say that’s the way I work.”
What we’re learning, as a society, is that productivity is not merely about hours put in. It’s about respecting cycles—whether your own circadian rhythm or the ebb and flow of strategic focus in a team. Joanne put it directly: “There is a bias there. You think you’ve done a third more than someone who comes in later, but really, you only see their overlapping period. There’s so much you don’t notice.”
Leaning into Difference: Stage Managing the Day for Better Belonging
If there’s a mission for leaders willing to change the game, it’s this: create space for people to deliver at their best, regardless of whether that’s 6am or 10pm. This doesn’t mean chaos. It means clarity—on outcomes, impact, and respect for lives lived beyond the walls of work.
Joanne and I returned, repeatedly, to the question: why are we still so resistant to inclusion when it comes to time? What is the cost of refusing to acknowledge the diversity of human rhythm? The real secret: when we enable people to operate in their “zone”, we do not simply improve morale—we are literally getting more from them. By eliminating false barriers, we catalyse latent potential.
Sometimes, this work means pushing back against managerial micromanagement masquerading as concern. Sometimes, it’s as simple as learning to schedule key meetings in the “Goldilocks zone”—the patch in the day when night owls are warming up, and fowls still have fuel in the tank.
Even the best system is incomplete without empathy. Jet lag, fatigue, presenteeism—these are not just technical variables, but intensely human ones. And they surface most brutally in moments of transition: the new parent, the trauma survivor, the professional coming back from another continent.
Final Word: From the Edge of the Night
If there’s one thing I hope stayed with listeners—and stays with you—it’s that inclusion is not just about demographic labels or surface-level representation programmes. It’s about making space for the spectrum of human experience, biology included.
When we design for the “average”, we miss out on both the humanity and the innovation that emerges from the edges. It’s in the “absolutely owls” and the “absolutely fowls”, the weary traveller and the nightwatch Consultant, the parent burning the midnight oil and the sunrise optimist—where diversity really pays dividends.
If this conversation leaves you reflecting on your own rhythms—or the rigid expectations woven into your company or community—take it as the starting pistol, not the cool-down. The outliers are not nuisances. They’re the next great advantage, hiding in plain sight.
And I’d love to know: what’s your natural rhythm? Where do you do your best work? Are you an owl, secretly biding your time, or a fowl thriving in the quiet dawn? Drop your experience in the comments—I promise, I read them all.
Let’s keep the world moving at all its natural speeds.