← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Sunday Reset (Encore)
00:33:25
Season 16, Episode 39
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Transcript4 lines
- [00:01]
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Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories and ad free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe Now. Have you ever wished you could visit the Village of Nothing Much? Well, this is your invitation. Join me, Catherine Nicolai for a live virtual event on Wednesday, November 19th at 6pm Pacific 9pm Eastern. It will be a cozy night of storytelling, music and calm. I'll share three handpicked bedtime stories, including one you've never heard on the podcast, brought to life with healing music from Aya Ayal and sound designed by Bob. We'll pause between stories for guided journaling and creative moments to help you slow down, reconnect and rest. And you'll receive exclusive extras created just for this event, including a brand new illustration from the village, thoughtful journaling prompts and a few playful surprises to enjoy at home. If you join the Dreamers inner circle, you can stay for a cozy after party where I'll answer your questions, share character updates, and reveal some behind the scenes stories that never made it into the podcast. You can tune in from anywhere, but it's one night only, so don't miss it. Go to Pave Live to get your ticket. That's PAVE L I V E. If you've listened to me for a while, you know I'm a big believer in stacking habits that actually support the nervous system. Not just more sleep, but real restorative sleep. And that's why I started using CBN nightcaps from Cured Nutrition. They're formulated with 30 milligrams of CBD and 5 milligrams of CBN, two cannabinoids that work together in a really specific way. CBD helps calm the mind down and downshift stress, while CBN supports the body's natural sleep cycles, especially the deeper stages of sleep where recovery actually happens. And what I've noticed. It's measurable. I fall asleep fast, I stay asleep longer, and my sleep and readiness scores look completely different the next morning. And what's important is that there's no psychoactive effect and no next day grogginess. I just wake up clear, rested and regulated. I take one about an hour before bed, right before I make tea and cue up a bedtime story. A story helps my mind settle. The nightcap helps my body follow. If you've tried melatonin or OTC sleep aids and felt groggy or kind of chemically knocked out, this is a different experience. It works with your natural rhythms, not against them. Cured Nutrition is offering my listeners 20% off so you can try nightcaps for yourself. Just go to curednutrition.com nothingmuch and use code nothingmuch at checkout. That's C U r e d nutrition.com nothingmuch Coupon code nothingmuch.
- [03:13]
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Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone in which Nothing Much Happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
- [03:28]
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I'm Kathryn Nicolai.
- [03:30]
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I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different. But the stories are always soothing and family friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams. Now, just by following along with my voice and the gentle turns of the story I'm about to tell you, you will be training your brain to have a reliable response that is to relax, focus and tip into slumber. That response gets stronger with practice, so have a bit of patience. If you're new to this, I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake in the middle of the night, think back through any part of the story you can remember often that will put you right back to sleep. And if it doesn't, please don't hesitate to just turn the story right back on the longer you wait to get back on track. Well, you're missing sleep, but you're also giving the gears a chance to turn and build momentum. Now switch off your light, set down your device. It's time. Make your body as comfortable as you can. If there are leftovers from your to do list today, recognize they weren't, in the end, meant for today. And that's okay. Feel your limbs going heavy, your eyes softly closing, breathe in through your nose and sigh from the mouth again, in and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Sunday Reset, and it's a story about a day set aside to plan for a good week ahead. It's also about sheets hung out on the line, drying in the last warm rays of autumn, a record spinning on the turntable, and a changed outlook after advice from a friend. Sunday Reset. It changed how I thought about it, when I changed what I called it. Funny how that works sometimes, how words can reframe things, change a perspective. I used to try to use my Sundays to clean. Sundays were for chores and just thinking about that made me resent it a bit. I knew the dishes needed to be done and fresh sheets needed to be put on the bed, but I begrudged giving a day of the week to it. Then I took some advice from a friend of mine. She talked about resetting her space at the end of the week to make the next week easier, more enjoyable, and I could get behind that. So I started to reset to think of it not as what needed to be cleaned up from last week, but what would be a gift to future Me and not just along the lines of food in my fridge or clear counters, but what would help me focus and feel rested and taken care of. It turned the day into something I looked forward to and took my time with. And today was a reset day. The fall was turning into winter, but as sometimes happens when the seasons change, Mother Nature was treating us. Sometimes it felt like she was teasing us by rewinding into weather from a few months before. So as the sun rose, I stepped out onto my balcony in my slippers with a blanket pulled around me and a hot cup in my hand and felt quite comfortable in the nearly warm morning air. I let the sun shine on my face and closed my eyes and imagined my battery charge percentage climbing point by point from the warmth and the brightness on the street below. I could hear people walking, dogs barking. The coffee shop at the end of the block must be roasting beans this morning. I could smell the dark chocolatey scent in the air. When my cup was empty, I stepped back inside and set it in the sink. Before I did anything else, I wanted to wash my face and get dressed. As long as I was in my pajamas I was like a car in neutral. But once I was dressed, teeth brushed and face seen to, I was in gear. Moving forward. I stripped my bed and started a load of laundry, opening a few windows along the way to let in some fresh air. Then I went from room to room, resetting. It didn't take long, hanging up the sweaters and jackets that had landed outside of the closet over the week, sorting through magazines and mail, untidying my dresser and coffee table. We swept the floors and wiped down the kitchen counters. I realized I was working in silence and wanted a bit of music to keep me company. I'd bought myself a fancy vintage style record player for my birthday a few months before and was slowly growing my vinyl collection. I liked to play records while I reset. That way every half hour or so I'd need to flip the record or choose a new one and it kept me on my feet and interested. I picked out an album that had first come out when I was a freshman in high school. It was wistful and angsty, a voice that had felt like a revolution at the time. I still knew all the words. I took the record from the sleeve, propping the sleeve on my now listening to shelf, and lowered the record carefully onto the turntable. It was an automatic player, so I just lowered the lid and turned the dial and the arm lifted and positioned itself over the spinning disc until the needle found its groove. I smiled at the first few bars, thinking about my younger self listening in my dark bedroom before falling asleep, sure that all the very big things I was feeling had never been felt quite like this before. In some ways that had been the reset I needed. Then, year by year, I'd gotten myself to the next day, the next season, and so I was grateful for all those previous iterations of me. I guessed one day I'd look back on the me of now with the same affection that I had for my younger self. We were doing our best, and it was enough. I heard the musical chime of the washing machine completing its cycle and took my clothes rack out onto the balcony. In this warm sunlight, my sheets would dry pretty quickly and the fresh air would seep into the fabric so that every time I turned over in the night and my nose found the pillow, I would breathe it in while I slept. I might even dream of summer wind and open spaces. I took the damp linens out in a big basket and started to shake them out and pin up each piece. It was something my grandmother had always done when she was hanging towels on the line. She'd shake them out vigorously, snapping the fabric over the grass. She said it made the towels fluffier, and though these were sheets and pillowcases, I still did the same thing. I clamped my hands firmly around the edges of my sheet and draped it over the railing. As I shook it, I spotted my neighbor, the apartment opposite, watering his plants on his balcony, and we waved. The street was getting busier as folks took advantage of the weather. It made me think about what else would help set me up for the week. A walk in the park? A new book from the bookshop. I checked the fridge and pantry and saw that I was still pretty well stocked for lunches and such. But wouldn't it be nice to have a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery for sandwiches? While the sheets dried, I'd head down onto the street and pick up a few other things. Epsom salts and eucalyptus oil for a bath, a bouquet of fall flowers for the kitchen table, a quart of soup from the deli for dinner, and maybe a new record to listen to before bed. I was taking care of me in lots of little ways. Man, it sure felt good. Sunday reset. It changed how I thought about it when I changed what I called it. Funny how that works sometimes, how words can reframe things, change a perspective. I used to try to use my Sundays to clean. Sundays were for chores, and just thinking about that made me resent it a bit. I knew the dishes needed to be done and fresh sheets needed to be put on the bed, but I begrudged giving a day of the week to it. Then I took some advice from a friend of mine. She talked about resetting her space at the end of the week to make the next week easier, more enjoyable. I could get behind that. So I started to reset. To think of it not as what needed to be cleaned up from last week, but what would be a gift to future Me, and not just along the lines of food in my fridge on clear counters, but what would help me focus and feel rested and taken care of. It turned the day into something I looked forward to and took my time with. And today was a reset day. The fall was turning into winter, but as sometimes happens when the seasons change, Mother Nature was treating us. Sometimes it felt like she was teasing us by rewinding into weather from a few months before. So as the sun rose, I stepped out onto my balcony in my slippers with a blanket pulled around me and a hot cup in my hand, and felt quite comfortable in the nearly warm morning air. I let the sun shine on my face and closed my eyes and imagined my battery charge percentage climbing point by point from the warmth and brightness on the street below. I could hear people walking, dogs barking. The coffee shop at the end of the block must be roasting beans this morning I could smell the dark, chocolatey scent in the air. When my cup was empty, I stepped back inside and set it in the sink. Before I did anything else, I wanted to wash my face and get dressed. As long as I was in my pajamas, I was like a car in neutral. But once I was dressed, teeth brushed and face seen to, I was in gear. Moving forward, I stripped my bed and started a load of laundry, opening a few windows along the way to let in some fresh air. Then I went from room to room, resetting. It didn't take long, hanging up the sweaters and jackets that had landed outside of the closet over the week, sorting through magazines and mail, and tidying my dresser and coffee table. I swept the floors and wiped down the kitchen counters. I realized I was working in silence and wanted a bit of music to keep me company. I'd bought myself a fancy vintage style record player for my birthday a few months before and was slowly growing my vinyl collection. I liked to play records while I reset. That way, every half hour or so I'd need to flip the record or choose a new one, and it kept me on my feet and interested. I picked out an album that had first come out when I was a freshman in high school. It was wistful and angsty, a voice that had felt like a revolution. At the time I still knew all the words. I took the record from the sleeve, propping the sleeve on my now listening to shelf, and lowered the record carefully onto the turntable. It was an automatic player, so I just lowered the lid and turned the dial and the arm lifted and positioned itself over the spinning disk until the needle found its groove. I smiled at the first few bars, thinking about my younger self, listening in my dark bedroom before falling asleep, sure that all the very big things I was feeling had never been felt quite like this before. In some ways, that had been the reset I needed. Then, year by year, I'd gotten myself to the next day, the next season, and so I was grateful for all those previous iterations of me. I guessed one day I'd look back on the me of now with the same affection that I had for my younger self. We were doing our best and it was enough. I heard the musical chime of the washing machine completing its cycle and took my clothes rack out onto the balcony. In this warm sunlight, my sheets would dry pretty quickly and fresh air would seep into the fabric so that every time I turned over in the night and my nose found the pillow, I would breathe it in while I slept. I might even dream of summer wind and open spaces. I took the damp linens out in a big basket and started to shake out and pin up each piece. It was something my grandmother had always done when she hung towels on the line. She'd shake them out vigorously, snapping the fabric over the grass. She said it made the towels fluffier, and though these were sheets and pillowcases, I still did the same thing. I clamped my hands firmly around the edges of my sheet and draped it over the railing. As I shook it out, I spotted my neighbor in the apartment opposite watering his plants on his balcony, and we waved. The street below was getting busier as folks took advantage of the weather. It made me think about what else would help set me up for the week. A walk in the park, a new book from the bookshop. I checked the fridge and pantry and saw that I was still pretty well stocked for lunches and such. Wouldn't it be nice to have a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery for sandwiches? While the sheets dried, I'd head down onto the street and pick up a few other things. Epsom salts and eucalyptus oil for a bath, a bouquet of fall flowers for the kitchen table, a quart of soup from the deli for dinner, and maybe a new record to listen to before bed. I was taking care of me in lots of little ways, and it sure felt good. Sweet dreams.