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If you're hearing this, it means you've already made sleep a priority.
And that's something worth applauding.
You've carved out this quiet moment to wind down.
And I have something that fits beautifully into that routine.
It's called Moonbird.
It's a small screen-free device that gently expands and contracts in your hand, guiding your breath with a calming rhythm.
You don't have to count or focus, just hold it and breathe.
I got mine first, and I'm using it right now.
I use it whenever I record this podcast.
It helps me stay calm and centered as I read to you.
And after seeing how much it helped me, my wife wanted one for herself, and now she loves it too.
There's no screen to distract you, but if you like data, there's an optional app that tracks your heart rate and HRV.
A recent study found that people fell asleep 28 faster and had 37 better sleep quality using Moonbird daily.
If you're ready to take your bedtime ritual even further, you can get 15 off at moonbirdlife slash nothingmuchappens.
We'll have that in our show notes.
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If you've been listening to me for a while, you know how much I value rest.
Sleep is really the foundation for everything else we do.
Our creativity, our relationships, our mood.
And like you, I've had stretches where sleep just didn't come easily.
And that's why I want to share something that's made a difference for me.
CBN Night Caps from Cured Nutrition.
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What I've noticed is that I fall asleep really quickly, and I stay asleep longer.
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Instead, I just feel rested and clear.
There's no psychoactive effect, just a gentle calm that helps my body and mind unwind.
For me, taking one an hour before bed has become part of my wind-down ritual, right alongside tea and a book.
It feels natural, not forced, and that's why it works.
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Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens.
You feel good, and then...
You fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nicolai.
I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens.
Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.
We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to 4Ocean Foundation.
4Ocean is dedicated to ending plastic pollution by cleaning our oceans, rivers and coastlines, tackling the growing threat of microplastics and empowering communities through education and awareness.
You can learn more about them in our show notes.
Please consider becoming a premium sponsor for just 10 cents a day.
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We're about to launch our latest nine hour episode of Autumn Favorites.
It'll see you all the way through the night.
Click subscribe on Spotify or Apple or go to nothingmuchappens.com.
And now's a great time to follow us on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook.
I'll be doing more lives, more short, cozy videos, and extra story times there.
Just search Nothing Much Happens.
Now this podcast works by training your brain to shift from its wandering default mode to its sleep accessible, task positive mode.
And even better, it does it with stories that help you relax and feel good.
And all you need to do is listen.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to start a story over.
You'll drop right back off.
Our story tonight is called Autumn at the Inn, Part 1.
And it's a story written for all of you who have ever dreamt of taking a little trip to the village of nothing much.
It's about a faded business card passed from friend to friend.
An address of an inn on a lake far away.
Geese flying overhead.
A black cat. rustling leaves, and the start of an adventure taken when it's needed most.
So switch off your lamp, set down your device, and get as comfortable as you can.
Let go of any leftover thoughts.
You have done enough for the day.
Let your whole body relax and take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.
Again, breathe in.
And release it.
Good.
Autumn at the Inn.
Part 1.
It came as a recommendation from a friend.
I'd been going on a bit wistfully, I'm sure, about missing the bright leaves and crisp scents of autumn after living somewhere where the seasons barely budged throughout the year.
It had its benefits the sunshine and the months and months of warm weather.
I got to spend a lot of evenings out on the deck.
I went for beach walks while many others in less friendly climes were scraping ice from their windshields.
And almost none of my paycheck went into a mitten budget.
But every autumn I found myself longing for a chill in the air, a day to kick through fallen leaves and feast on cider donuts.
In fact and I'd probably deny this if it got out Sometimes in the fall, I turned the air conditioner all the way up, dressed in jeans and my one flannel shirt, and I pretended.
I had a few favorite movies, all set in September and October, and I'd watch them with a sweet cinnamon coffee in my hands.
I'd pull the curtains tight to block out the sun and the sight of my neighbors walking the sidewalks in shorts and flip-flops.
I'd light a pumpkin candle and try to fool myself. into feeling properly autumnal.
And I guess that's what I would have done again this year, except for the friend who'd clearly had enough of my lamenting and slipped me a worn business card from his wallet.
The card was simple, off-white, creamy stock, printed with faded, dark green ink.
The name of an inn, an address, a phone number and a line drawing of an old stately building beside a lake.
He said he'd visited years before and still thought about it.
I ran my finger over the lines that made up the lake and had a sudden image in my mind of geese flying overhead, tall trees crowned in red and gold and orange and a bench by the water.
I'd prodded my friend a bit.
What made this place special?
What did he remember from his trip?
Nothing much, he answered.
Just that when I came back, I felt like my shelves had been restocked.
Gosh, I'd love to go back.
I guess that's why I've kept the card in my wallet all this time.
I like just knowing that it's there.
I asked him if he wanted the card back, but he shrugged and said I should keep it.
I'd need it to call and make a reservation for a trip, to go see the leaves change.
I slipped it into my pocket. and we went on to talk of other things.
I actually forgot all about it until that night, when I was changing for bed and found it.
I set it down on my bedside table, propped against my lamp, and went to brush my teeth.
By the time I finally crawled into bed, it seemed too late to call.
Maybe I thought I should sleep on it.
Maybe it wasn't the right time for a trip.
Maybe it was silly.
To travel so far, just to stay at an inn and feel a bit of the fall air on my neck.
But I couldn't sleep.
I turned from side to side thinking about the ten-day forecast I'd checked before shutting things down for the night.
Hot and sunny, every day for the foreseeable future.
Humid and unrelenting.
I sat up and reached for the card. the moonlight snaking through my blinds, glinted off the ink.
And again I imagined those geese overhead, the bench by the water.
I dialed the number, shaking my head a bit at my rashness.
I fully expected to leave a message.
I was sure there'd be no one at the desk at this time of night.
But a quiet voice answered right away.
Oh, hi, I stammered.
I didn't think anyone would be up.
Well, actually, I wasn't.
But my cat got me up.
He was meowing at the door and wouldn't stop till I came down to the office.
And that's when the phone rang.
It sounded like this might not have been the first time that had happened.
I imagined her with a pen already in her hand and a large desk calendar spread out in front of her, ready to take my reservation.
When would you like to come? she prompted.
Oh, um, actually, I hadn't thought that far ahead.
I, just a friend passed me your card and I could kind of use a getaway.
Of course.
Let me see.
We just had a cancellation, and it's during peak color season.
Does that sound good to you?
That's perfect.
She told me the dates starting in just a few days and I was glad that it was enough time to plan and travel, but not enough to second-guess myself.
She took my name and number, and we were just about to hang up when I stopped her.
One last thing.
What's your cat's name?
She laughed quietly and said, Sycamore, and I'm sure you'll get to meet him.
He'll even sleep on your bed if you let him.
After I'd hung up I wrote the dates on the back of the inn's card and slid back down into my sheets.
In the morning I'd have a full list of to-dos, travel plans and laundry, pulling my suitcase out from the high shelf in the closet and arranging to have the plants watered while I was gone.
I'd need to do a bit of shopping for warm clothes, a good pair of sturdy shoes or boots to hike in, and my camera.
It was ready to be picked up from the shop where it had been repaired.
And even with all of that on my mind, As soon as I pulled the blanket up over my shoulder, I fell quickly and deeply asleep.
I dreamt of a view from a window on an upper floor looking out across the lake at a forest of vibrantly swathed trees.
In the dream, I smelled the scent of coffee cake and heard a tinkling bell on a black cat's collar.
There was a winding staircase and a long hallway lined with portraits that led to a porch full of tables set for breakfast.
I smiled in my sleep.
Autumn at the Inn, Part One It came as a recommendation from a friend.
I'd been going on a bit wistfully, I'm sure, about missing the bright leaves and crisp sense of autumn, after living somewhere that the seasons barely budged throughout the year.
It had its benefits, the sunshine and the months and months of warm weather.
I got to spend a lot of evenings out on the deck.
I went for beach walks while many others in less friendly climes were scraping ice from their windshields.
And almost none of my paycheck went into a mitten budget.
But every autumn I found myself longing for a chill in the air, a day to kick through fallen leaves and feast on cider donuts.
In fact and I'd probably deny this if it got out sometimes in the fall, I turned the air conditioner all the way up, dressed in jeans and my one flannel shirt, and pretended.
I had a few favorite movies. all set in September and October.
And I'd watch them with a sweet cinnamon coffee in my hands.
I'd pull the curtains tight to block out the sun, in the sight of my neighbors walking the sidewalks in shorts and flip-flops.
I'd light a pumpkin candle and try to fool myself into feeling properly autumnal.
And I guess that's what I would have done again this year.
Except for the friend who'd clearly had enough of my lamenting and slipped me a worn business card.
The card was simple, off-white, creamy stock, printed with faded green ink.
The name of an inn, an address, a phone number and a line drawing of an old stately building beside a lake.
He said he'd visited years before and still thought about it.
I ran my finger over the lines that made up the lake and had a sudden image in my mind of geese flying overhead.
Tall trees, crowned in red and gold and orange, and a bench by the water.
I'd prodded my friend a bit.
What made this place special?
What did he remember from his trip?
Nothing much, he answered.
Just that when I came back, I felt like my shelves had been restocked.
Gosh, I'd love to go back.
I guess that's why I've kept the card in my wallet all this time.
I like just knowing that it is there.
I asked him if he wanted the card back, but he shrugged. and said I should keep it.
I'd need it to call and make a reservation for a trip, to go see the leaves change.
I slipped it into my pocket, And we went on to talk of other things.
I actually forgot all about it until that night when I was changing for bed and found it.
I set it down on my bedside table, propped against my lamp and went to brush my teeth.
By the time I finally crawled into bed, it seemed too late to call.
Maybe, I thought, I should sleep on it.
Maybe it wasn't the right time for a trip.
Maybe it was silly to travel so far, just to stay in an inn. and feel a bit of fall air on my neck.
But I couldn't sleep.
I turned from side to side thinking of the ten-day forecast.
I'd checked just before shutting things down for the night.
Hot and sunny.
Every day for the foreseeable future.
Humid and unrelenting.
I sat up and reached for the card.
The moonlight. snaking through my blinds, glinted off the ink.
And again, I imagined the geese overhead, the bench by the water.
I dialed the number. shaking my head a bit at my rashness.
I fully expected to leave a message.
I was sure there'd be no one at the desk at this time of night.
But a quiet voice answered right away.
Oh, hi, I stammered.
I didn't think anyone would be up.
Well, I wasn't, actually, but my cat got me up.
He was meowing at the door and wouldn't stop till I came down to the office.
And that's when the phone rang.
It sounded like this might not have been the first time that had happened.
I imagined her with a pen already in her hand and a large desk calendar spread out in front of her, ready to take my reservation.
When would you like to come?
She prompted.
Oh, um, actually, I hadn't thought that far ahead.
I just, a friend passed me your card, and I could kind of use a getaway.
Of course.
Let me see.
We just had a cancellation.
And it's during peak color season.
Does that sound good to you?
It's perfect.
She told me the dates.
Starting in just a few days.
And I was glad that it was enough time to plan and travel, but not enough to second-guess myself.
She took my name and number, and we were just about to hang up. when I stopped her.
One last thing.
What's your cat's name?
She laughed quietly and said, Sycamore.
I'm sure you'll get to meet him.
He'll even sleep on your bed if you let him.
After I hung up, I wrote the dates on the back of the inn's card and slid back down into my sheets.
In the morning I'd have a full list of to-dos, travel plans and laundry, pulling my suitcase out from the high shelf in the closet and arranging to have the plants watered while I was gone.
I'd need to do a bit of shopping for warm clothes, a good pair of sturdy shoes or boots to hike in, and my camera.
It was ready to be picked up. from the shop where it had been repaired.
Even with all that on my mind, as soon as I pulled the blanket up over my shoulder, I fell quickly and deeply asleep.
I dreamt of a view from a window on an upper floor looking out across the lake in a forest of vibrantly swathed trees.
In the dream, I smelled the scent of coffee cake and heard a tinkling bell on a black cat's collar.
There was a winding staircase and a long hallway lined with portraits that led to a porch full of tables set for breakfast.
I smiled in my sleep.
Sweet dreams.
