0:01

Welcome to bedtime

0:03

Stories for everyone,

0:06

in which nothing much happens,

0:10

you feel good, and

0:12

then you fall asleep. I'm

0:16

Catherine Nikolai. I

0:19

create everything you hear on

0:21

Nothing much happens with

0:24

audio engineering by Bob Witttersheim.

0:28

Before anything else, we'd

0:30

like to thank some recent subscribers

0:32

to our premium feeds. So

0:35

thank you Dorian, thank you,

0:38

Charlene, thank you, Marcus

0:41

and Leslie. I

0:43

promise not to put you through

0:45

an NPR style pledge

0:47

drive here, but

0:50

subscribing really does help

0:52

keep these stories coming to you every

0:54

week. There's

0:57

a lot of work going on behind the scenes,

1:00

not just me and Bob anymore,

1:04

and when you subscribe, you make that possible,

1:07

as well as getting ad free bonus

1:10

and extra long, slightly

1:12

more happens episodes. So

1:16

if that's something you're interested in, we

1:19

have a direct link in the show notes you can click

1:21

and get started. You can

1:23

even continue to listen on whatever

1:25

app you're using right now, so

1:28

there's not even any new tech to

1:30

figure out.

1:33

Nothing much happens. We give to a different

1:36

charity each week, and this week

1:38

we are giving to Greyhound Rescue.

1:41

They ethically rescue, lovingly,

1:44

rehabilitate, and safely

1:46

rehome greyhounds, giving

1:48

them a voice through advocacy and education.

1:52

Find a link to them in our show notes.

1:56

Now, the concept

1:58

here is simple but tried

2:00

and true. I'm

2:03

going to read you a bedtime story,

2:06

and just by listening to it, by

2:10

following along with the sound of my voice,

2:14

we'll steer you into a deep,

2:16

restorative sleep. This

2:20

is a sort of grown up sleep

2:22

training, and you'll notice

2:24

that the more you do it, the

2:27

faster you fall asleep or return

2:29

to sleep in the night. I'll

2:32

tell the story twice,

2:34

and I'll go a little slower the second

2:36

time through. Now

2:40

it's time lights

2:42

out. Set

2:44

aside anything you've been playing with or

2:47

working on, and

2:49

take a moment to prioritize

2:52

your own comfort and

2:56

feel how good it is to

2:58

be in bed right now. Maybe

3:03

this is a moment you've

3:05

been looking forward to since

3:08

you got up this morning. Well,

3:12

now it's here. You

3:15

are safe,

3:17

You are done for the day, and

3:21

I'll be here keeping watch as

3:23

you sleep. Take

3:26

a slow, deep breath in

3:28

through your nose and

3:33

sigh through your mouth one

3:38

more time, fill it up and

3:43

let it go

3:48

good. Our

3:51

story tonight is called

3:53

the Joy of missing out

3:57

and It's a story about recharging

3:59

your boy when your battery

4:01

has run down. It's

4:05

also about frost on the windows,

4:08

reading a favorite book, snuggled

4:11

deep under the covers, being

4:14

honest about what you need, and

4:17

giving others permission to do the

4:19

same. The

4:23

joy of missing out.

4:28

We were a week or so away

4:30

from Thanksgiving, and

4:34

it felt like Halloween was

4:37

yesterday and that Christmas

4:39

would be tomorrow. As

4:43

much as I loved this time of year,

4:47

sometimes it seemed like a mad

4:49

gallop rushing

4:52

from October to the new year, and

4:56

I wanted to slow it down and

4:59

savor it before it was gone.

5:04

So instead of picking

5:07

apples for next week's

5:09

pies at the orchard, or

5:12

heading to downtown to

5:14

stroll the streets and

5:17

watch the shopkeepers put together

5:19

their holiday window displays,

5:23

or meeting friends coming into

5:25

town for dinner, or

5:28

a hundred other things that

5:31

I am thoroughly fond of, I

5:35

am instead relaxing

5:38

into the joy of missing out.

5:44

I realized this morning, as

5:46

I sipped my coffee in bed, that

5:51

my battery had

5:53

run out. I

5:56

just didn't have the energy

5:59

to do today, and

6:03

at first I resisted it, feeling

6:07

like I should

6:09

push myself up and into

6:11

my clothes out of the door, and

6:15

that if I did, maybe

6:18

I would find the energy. But

6:22

I realized even

6:25

if I did, I

6:27

wasn't likely to find the joy.

6:32

I could put one foot in front

6:34

of the other, but couldn't

6:37

put an honest smile on my face.

6:42

No, I needed

6:44

a deep, factory reset,

6:49

and in the moment I surrendered

6:52

to that, I

6:54

felt myself relaxing.

6:58

I hadn't even realized that

7:01

I'd been wearing my shoulders like

7:03

earrings, tensing

7:06

against the day. As

7:09

I let my shoulders and

7:12

my guard down, I

7:15

breathed deeper. I

7:18

felt a warm thank

7:21

you for listening from my

7:23

body, spreading

7:26

through my limbs. I

7:29

would make no plans today,

7:33

and I would cancel the ones I did

7:35

have. I

7:39

drank till my cup was empty, pushed

7:42

it onto my bedside table, and

7:46

slid back down into

7:48

my sheets. They

7:52

were still warm and puffed

7:54

up from a night of sleeping,

7:58

and I burrowed in till

8:01

just my head was out. There

8:06

was frost on the window

8:08

this morning, and

8:11

I spent some time just

8:13

looking at it, watching

8:17

how the light of the rising sun

8:19

struck and bounced off

8:21

of it. I

8:24

could feel that given

8:27

its struthers my

8:30

body would not have awoken this

8:32

early, and

8:36

that there might be a way back

8:39

into sleep. I

8:43

took my book from the table and

8:46

curled up around it, keeping

8:50

as much of me as possible

8:53

in my cocoon of blankets. As

8:57

I opened it and

8:59

began to read, a

9:03

memory from childhood ran

9:06

through my mind of

9:10

the first time I read

9:12

a whole chapter on my

9:14

own. It

9:18

had been the morning like this,

9:20

one frost

9:22

on the windows, and

9:24

me tucked up in bed with

9:27

a thin chapter book. I

9:32

remember fumbling my way through

9:35

the words I didn't recognize,

9:39

sounding them out slowly but

9:42

determinedly, until

9:45

I turned a page and

9:47

found a big two

9:51

marking the start of the next chapter.

9:56

I had felt so proud. It

10:00

felt like I had reached a turning

10:02

point. I

10:05

could read now all

10:07

by myself, and

10:10

whenever I wanted. I

10:15

thought of little me smiling

10:19

at her book all those

10:21

years ago, and

10:24

felt so tender toward her and

10:27

grateful as

10:29

I was still turning pages and

10:32

enjoying stories all

10:36

these years later. My

10:40

current read was when I read

10:42

every autumn. It

10:46

didn't matter if I was right

10:48

in the middle of another book, if

10:53

I had a tall stack waiting

10:55

for me beside the bed. The

11:00

pages were starting to be dog

11:02

eared. When the spine

11:04

cracked once

11:07

it felt crisp and the leaves

11:09

turned. I

11:12

plucked this one from the shelf and

11:15

treated myself to a long

11:17

dip into its world, which

11:21

was full of mystery and

11:23

magic and near misses

11:27

and impossible love. As

11:32

my eyes moved over the lines

11:34

on the page, I

11:36

felt my eyelids drooping.

11:41

I kept starting over, rereading

11:45

a line, opening

11:47

my eyes again, until I

11:51

finally let the book fall onto

11:53

the comforter beside me and

11:56

drifted dreamt

12:00

in a swirl of snow and

12:03

colors. Nothing

12:06

concrete enough to form

12:08

into a storyline,

12:11

but with the atmosphere of Christmas,

12:16

a sea of trees lit

12:19

up on a mountain side,

12:22

and excitement and

12:24

sleigh bells. When

12:28

I woke again, I felt

12:32

replete.

12:34

I stretched my limbs in bed

12:38

and took deep breaths

12:42

at the window, tying

12:45

my robe around me. I

12:48

watched cars coming

12:50

and going. A

12:54

neighbor wrapped in a huge

12:56

parka with

12:59

a scarf slipping down his back

13:03

was unpacking boxes of twinkle

13:06

lights and a whole herd

13:08

of reindeer on to his

13:10

front lawn. I

13:14

smiled, as I scooped up

13:16

my cold cup from beside

13:19

the bed and

13:21

felt how lovely it was to

13:24

be missing out on all of that.

13:27

Today in

13:31

the kitchen, I started

13:33

a fresh pot of coffee

13:36

and sprinkle a good bit of cinnamon

13:38

in with the grounds.

13:42

As it brewed, the house filled

13:45

with the lovely, roasty,

13:47

sweet scent, and

13:50

I sent a couple of messages to

13:53

cancel the plans i'd had for that

13:55

evening. I

13:59

did it without the least bit

14:01

of regret or guilt,

14:06

just knowing I was

14:08

doing what I needed to do to

14:11

take care of myself. The

14:16

responses came back with

14:18

little hearts and thumbs up. No

14:22

one was mad, no

14:25

one was expecting

14:27

more of me than I could give.

14:32

In fact, one friend gratefully

14:35

said she'd

14:37

decided to stay home too, that

14:41

I'd given her the nudge she

14:43

needed to slow

14:46

down. That's

14:50

the thing about just being

14:52

honest about what you need.

14:57

When you do,

15:00

you give others permission to

15:02

do the same, and

15:04

we all get a little closer to

15:07

having those needs met. I

15:12

thought of things I might like to do

15:15

while missing out. Watch

15:18

old movies, take

15:22

a long hot bath, fill

15:25

up the bird feeders, do

15:28

the crossword, puzzle, maybe

15:32

cook something, or maybe

15:34

just order something tasty that

15:37

could be delivered right to my door.

15:43

That sounded like plenty for

15:45

a full day of doing nothing

15:48

much. Yes,

15:52

before I knew it, I'd

15:54

be putting up the tree,

15:57

rushing to a holiday concert,

16:01

making a new Year's resolution. Well,

16:05

here was an early resolution I

16:08

thought I might be able to stick

16:10

to Every

16:13

now and then, when I felt

16:15

the need, I

16:18

would politely absent myself

16:21

from the busy world

16:24

and remember how

16:27

to rest the

16:32

joy of missing out. We

16:38

were a week or so away from

16:41

Thanksgiving, and

16:44

it felt like Halloween was

16:47

yesterday and

16:50

that Christmas would be tomorrow. As

16:56

much as I loved this time

16:58

of year, sometimes

17:02

it seemed like a mad gallop

17:06

rushing from October to

17:09

the new year, and

17:13

I wanted to slow it down and

17:16

savor it before

17:19

it was gone.

17:24

So instead of picking apples

17:27

for next week's pies at

17:30

the orchard, or

17:33

heading to downtown to

17:36

stroll the streets and

17:39

watch the shopkeepers put

17:41

together their holiday window

17:43

displays, or

17:47

meet friends coming

17:50

into town for dinner, or

17:54

a hundred other things that

17:58

I am thoroughly fond of, I

18:02

am instead relaxing

18:06

into the joy of

18:08

missing out. I

18:13

realized this morning, as

18:16

I sipped my coffee in bed, that

18:21

my battery had

18:24

run out. I

18:27

just didn't have the energy

18:31

to do to day, and

18:35

at first I resisted it, feeling

18:41

like I should push myself

18:43

up and into

18:45

my clothes and

18:48

out of the door, and

18:51

that if I did,

18:55

maybe I would find the

18:57

energy. But

19:01

I realized even

19:03

if I did, I

19:06

wasn't likely to find the joy.

19:11

I could put one foot in

19:14

front of the other, but

19:17

couldn't put an honest smile

19:21

on my face. No,

19:26

I needed a deep, factory

19:30

reset, and

19:33

in the moment I surrendered

19:35

to that, I

19:37

felt myself relaxing.

19:45

I hadn't even realized that

19:47

I'd been wearing my shoulders

19:50

like earrings, tensing

19:55

against the day. As

20:00

I let my shoulders and

20:03

my guard down, I

20:07

breathed deeper and

20:10

felt a warm thank

20:13

you for listening from my body,

20:17

spreading through my limbs.

20:22

I would make no plans

20:24

today, and

20:28

I would cancel the ones I

20:30

did have. I

20:35

drank till my cup was empty,

20:39

pushed it onto my bedside

20:41

table, and

20:45

slid back down into

20:48

my sheets. They

20:52

were still warm and

20:54

puffed up from a night of sleeping,

20:59

and I burrowed in till just

21:02

my head was out. There

21:08

was frost on the

21:10

window this morning, and

21:14

I spent some time just

21:17

looking at it, watching

21:22

how the light of the rising

21:24

sun struck and

21:27

bounced off of it. I

21:31

could feel that, given

21:34

its druthers, my

21:37

body would not have awoken this

21:40

early, and

21:43

that there might be a way

21:46

back into sleep. I

21:51

took my book from the table and

21:55

curled up around it, keeping

22:01

as much of me as possible

22:04

in my cocoon of blankets.

22:09

As I opened it and

22:11

began to read, a

22:15

memory from childhood

22:19

ran through my mind of

22:23

the first time I read

22:26

a whole chapter on

22:28

my own. It

22:32

had been a morning like

22:34

this one, frost

22:37

on the windows and

22:40

me tucked up in

22:42

bed with a

22:44

thin chapter book. I

22:49

remember fumbling my way

22:51

through the words I didn't recognize,

22:56

sounding them out slowly but

23:01

determinedly, until

23:05

I turned a page

23:07

and found a big

23:09

two marking

23:12

the start of the

23:14

next chapter. I

23:19

had felt so proud,

23:23

what felt like I had reached

23:26

a turning point. I

23:29

could read now all

23:32

by myself, and

23:35

whenever I wanted. I

23:40

thought of little

23:42

me smiling

23:44

at her book all

23:47

those years ago, and

23:50

felt so tender toward her and

23:54

grateful as

23:57

I was still turning pages and

24:01

enjoying stories all

24:04

these years later. My

24:09

current read was one I

24:12

read every autumn.

24:17

It didn't matter if I was right

24:20

in the middle of another book, if

24:24

I had a tall stack waiting

24:27

for me beside the bed, if

24:32

the pages were starting to be dog

24:34

eared and the spine

24:37

cracked. Once

24:41

it felt crisp and

24:43

the leaves turned, I

24:47

plucked this one from the shelf and

24:50

treated myself to

24:53

a long dip into

24:56

its world, which

25:00

was full of mystery and

25:03

magic and

25:06

near misses and

25:08

impossible love. As

25:13

my eyes moved over

25:16

the lines on the page,

25:20

I felt my eyelids drooping. I

25:26

kept starting over, rereading

25:30

a line,

25:33

opening my eyes again, until

25:37

I finally let the book

25:40

fall on to the comforter beside

25:43

me and drifted.

25:50

I dreamt in a swirl of

25:52

snow and colors,

25:57

nothing concrete enough

26:01

to form into a story line,

26:05

but with the atmosphere of Christmas.

26:10

A sea of trees lit

26:13

up on a mountain side,

26:16

an excitement and

26:19

sleigh bells. When

26:23

I woke again, I

26:26

felt replete.

26:30

I stretched my limbs in bed

26:33

and took deep breaths at

26:39

the window, tying

26:41

my robe around me, I

26:44

watched cars coming and going.

26:50

A neighbor wrapped in a

26:52

huge parka with

26:54

a scarf slipping

26:56

down his back, was

27:00

unpacking boxes of twinkle

27:03

lights and

27:07

the whole herd of reindeer

27:10

on to his front lawn. I

27:15

smiled as I scooped

27:18

up my cold cup from

27:20

beside the bed, and

27:24

felt how lovely it was to

27:27

be missing out on

27:30

all of that. To day, in

27:33

the kitchen, I started

27:36

a fresh pot of coffee

27:40

and sprinkled a good bit of

27:42

cinnamon in with the grounds.

27:48

As it brewed, the

27:50

house filled with the

27:52

lovely, roasty,

27:55

sweet scent, and

27:58

I sent a couple messes to

28:01

cancel the plans I'd had

28:03

for that evening. I

28:07

did it without the least bit

28:10

of regret or guilt,

28:14

just knowing I was doing

28:18

what I needed to do to

28:21

take care of myself. The

28:27

responses came back in

28:30

with little hearts and

28:32

thumbs up. No

28:36

one was mad, no

28:38

one was expecting more

28:41

of me than I

28:43

could give. In

28:46

fact, one friend

28:48

gratefully said she'd

28:52

decided to stay home too,

28:57

that I'd given her the nudge

29:00

you needed to

29:02

slow down. That's

29:07

the thing about

29:09

just being honest about

29:13

what you need. When

29:16

you do

29:18

you give others permission to

29:20

do the same, and

29:23

we all get a little closer to

29:26

having those needs. Matt, I

29:32

thought of things I

29:35

might like to do while

29:37

missing out. Watch

29:41

old movies, take

29:45

a long hot bath, fill

29:50

up the bird feeders, do

29:54

the crossword puzzle, maybe

29:59

cook something, or maybe

30:03

just order something that

30:05

could be delivered right

30:07

to my front door. That

30:11

sounded like plenty for

30:14

a full day of doing nothing

30:18

much. Yes,

30:22

before I knew it, I'd

30:25

be putting up the tree,

30:28

rushing to a holiday concert,

30:32

making a New Year's resolution.

30:37

Well, here was

30:40

an early resolution I

30:43

thought I might be able

30:45

to stick to every

30:49

now and then, when

30:52

I felt the need, I

30:55

would politely absent myself

31:00

in the busy world and

31:04

remember how to rest

31:10

sweet dreams.