Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Three Good Things

Episode Date: May 26, 2018

Our story tonight is called "Three Good Things" and it’s about reminding yourself of some of the simple happy moments that happen during the day. Sometimes good stuff slips through our brains without leaving much of a trace, while scary upsetting stuff gets stuck in there. So it helps to notice and highlight sweetness when it shows up, even if that just amounts to us saying to ourselves, “Oh that’s nice.” So get cozy and ready to sleep. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. All stories are written and read by me, Katherine Nicolai, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Let me say a bit about how to use this podcast. I'm going to tell you a simple bedtime story to help you feel relaxed and drop off into sleep. By giving your mind something to follow along with,

you help to direct yourself toward sleep and away from the loop of worries and unfinished business that can keep us all up at night. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you find you're still awake at the end of the second telling, don't worry. That is sometimes how it goes.

Just start back at the beginning of the story and walk yourself through the details that you can remember. This is a kind of brain training. And every time you do it, it'll come a bit easier, and falling quickly into a restful sleep will be your natural response. If you find yourself awake again later in the night, instead of letting the loop of thoughts take over, think back through the story again, And before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow, feeling rested and calm. Now it's time to turn out the light. Set down your work.

Put away your screens. Slip down deep into the covers and get as comfortable as you can. Make all the adjustments you need to, till you find the right position. And then take a slow, deep breath in through the nose, and sigh out of the mouth. Nice. One more, please.

Breathe in, and out. Our story tonight is called Three Good Things, and it's about reminding yourself of some of the simple happy moments that happen during the day. Sometimes good stuff slips through our brains without leaving much of a trace, while scary, upsetting stuff gets stuck in there. So it helps to notice and highlight sweetness when it shows up.

Even if that just amounts to us saying to ourselves, that's nice. Three good things. All the way at the top of my house, there's a room just for me It's an office, certainly I get work done there But it's also a place where I read Or where I listen to music

Or just am alone It's a few steps up and around a corner from the floor below. A big open room with windows facing the trees, and wood floors with a few worn rugs spread out on them. I have a desk and a bookshelf, a small sofa and a lamp, a little table for doing puzzles or painting And lots of candles

In the corner on a soft rug There is a cushion for meditation Today the house was already quiet A few windows open on a late spring afternoon. I'd made myself a cup of something warm to drink and climbed the stairs to my room. The trees were budding, and I stood at a window and looked out for a while. I sipped my drink and watched a squirrel sitting in the crook of a branch, her tail flicking every now and then. I set my drink down and checked the few potted plants I had sitting on shelves or windowsills,

gave the thirsty ones a drink, and set to lighting the candles. It took a few minutes. It was a sort of ritual. I liked the feeling of marking a moment, and lighting a candle, or turning on music, or even just taking a big breath, felt like that. I hummed a bit, struck a match, and went from candle to candle until the room had a soft glow and felt cozy and friendly. I set my cup next to my meditation

cushion, sat down and fidgeted around until I'd figured out where my feet and hips needed to settle in order for me to be upright and relaxed. I had an old light blanket that I pulled around my shoulders and a bit of it over my head. I wasn't cold, but it made me feel safe and focused. I took a few slow breaths and thought back over the past 24 hours. I was looking for three good things.

Three sweet moments to relive in my head. I found that when I did this, I reset my brain a bit, and seemed to notice more sweetness in general everywhere I looked for a day or so afterwards. In the quiet of my mind, a memory rose up. In bed the night before, my partner had rolled over in between dreams and bumped a hand along my arm. Without waking, my sweetheart had squeezed my wrist and held on. I felt a bloom of contentment through my body and listened as slow breathing became a quiet snore.

I had smiled to myself in the darkness, and gone immediately back to sleep. I smiled to myself now, wrapped in my blanket, and remembered how good it felt to be touched by the person you love. I breathed and sat still, looking again for a good moment. That morning, stepping out into the fresh spring air with my dogs,

I'd looked up at the sky. I'd stood still for a minute and just looked at the lines of color as they spread and shifted above me. Pinks and blues, and a few streaks of bright red. I was awed, and let myself feel it. The air smelled so clean that breathing deep felt like medicine. My dog sniffed around and chased through the grass, and I had a feeling of simple joy. Now on my cushion, I remembered that feeling and traced it back and forth in my mind,

so that those connections in my brain were well-built and lasting. One more time I dipped into my memory for something sweet, and thought of a visit I'd made to a friend at lunchtime. She had a new baby, just a few weeks old, and I'd brought by a bag of groceries and offered to hold her little girl while she napped and showered. My friend laid her in my arms and snuck out of the room to take care of herself for a bit. The baby was so new that sleep came easy to her and she quickly dropped off in my arms. I leaned back into the sofa

and rested her head under my chin. The weight of her little body on my chest had felt so good that it was like a drug in my system. I was suddenly calm and content. I tipped my nose down to her head and breathed in her smell. Sitting in my little room, feeling the afternoon light on my face, I remembered. The weight of the baby.

The colors of the sky. The touch of my love. I held it all in my mind and just sat with it. It filled in places inside me where things had been knocked out or lost. I felt whole and happy and quiet. Three good things. All the way at the top of my house, there's a room just for me. It's an office. Certainly, I get work done there, but it's also a place

where I read, or where I listen to music, or just am alone. It's a few steps up and around a corner from the floor below. A big open room, with windows facing the trees and wood floors with a few worn rugs spread out on them. I have a desk and a bookshelf, a small sofa and a lamp. A little table for doing puzzles or painting, and lots of candles. In the corner on a soft rug, there is a cushion for meditation. Today the house was already quiet. A few windows open on a late spring afternoon. I'd made myself a cup of something warm to drink and climbed the stairs up to my room. The trees were budding

and I stood at a window and looked out for a while. I sipped my drink and watched a squirrel sitting in the crook of a branch, her tail flicking every now and then. I set my drink down and checked the few potted plants I had sitting on shelves or windowsills, gave the thirsty ones a drink, and set to lighting the candles. It took a few minutes.

It was a sort of ritual. I liked the feeling of marking a moment, and lighting a candle, or turning on music or even just taking a big breath felt like that. I hummed a bit, struck a match and went from candle to candle until the room had a soft glow

and felt cozy and friendly. I set my cup next to my meditation cushion, sat down and fidgeted around until I'd figured out where my feet and hips needed to settle in order for me to be upright and relaxed. I had an old light blanket that I pulled around my shoulders, and a bit of it over my head. I wasn't cold, but it made me feel safe and focused. I took a few slow breaths, and thought back over the past 24 hours. I was looking for three good things, three sweet moments to relive in my head. I found that when I did this, I reset my brain a bit, and seemed to notice more sweetness in general everywhere I looked for a day or so afterwards. In the quiet of my mind, a memory rose up. In bed the night before, my partner had rolled over in between dreams and bumped a hand along my arm.

Without waking, my sweetheart had squeezed my wrist and held on. I'd felt a bloom of contentment through my body and listened as slow breathing became a quiet snore. I'd smiled to myself in the darkness and gone immediately back to sleep. I smiled to myself now, wrapped in my blanket, and remembered how good it felt to be touched by the person you love.

I breathed and sat still, looking again for a good moment. That morning, stepping out into the fresh spring air with my dogs, I had looked up at the sky. I had stood still for a minute, and just looked at the lines of color as they spread and shifted above me. Pinks and blues, and a few streaks of bright red. I was awed, and let myself feel it. The air smelled so clean that breathing deep felt like medicine.

My dog sniffed around and chased through the grass, and I had a feeling of simple joy. Now on my cushion, I remembered that feeling and traced it back and forth in my mind so that those connections in my brain were well-built and lasting. One more time,

I dipped into my memory for something sweet and thought of a visit I'd made to a friend at lunchtime. She had a new baby, just a few weeks old, and I'd brought by a bag of groceries and offered to hold her little girl while she napped and showered. My friend laid her in my arms and snuck out of the room to take care of herself for a bit. The baby was so new that sleep came easy to her, and she quickly dropped off in my arms. I leaned back into the sofa and rested her head under my chin. The weight of her little body on my chest had felt so good that it was like a drug in my system. I was suddenly calm and

content. I tipped my nose down to her head and breathed in her smell. Sitting in my little room, feeling the afternoon light on my face, I remembered. The weight of the baby. The colors of the sky. The touch of my love. I held it all in my mind and just sat with it.

It filled in places inside me where things had been knocked out or lost. I felt whole, unhappy, and quiet. Sweet dreams.