Nothing Much Happens E-Book

Kathryn Nicolai

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

In Nothing Much Happens Kathryn Nicolai offers a healthy way to ease the mind before bed: through the timeless appeal of classic bedtime stories. These calming tales take place in and around a fictional city, each one revealing those small, sweet moments of joy that may be found in the commonplace. As the unnamed, gender-neutral narrators recount their days they evoke the distinct comforts offered by each of the four seasons and gently lull their reader towards sleep. From celebrating nature and revelling in the joy or being home alone to the pleasure of getting lost in the stacks of the library and picking out the best of the end-of-season tomatoes at the farmer's market, this treasury offers something for everyone. Using her decades of experience as a meditation and yoga teacher, Kathryn Nicolai creates a world for you to slip into, one rich in sensory experience that quietly teaches mindfulness and self-compassion, soothes frayed nerves, and builds solid habits for nurturing sleep.

Leseprobe

First published in the United States in 2020 by PENGUIN BOOKS, an imprint of Penguin Random House, LLC, New York

First published in hardback in Great Britain in 2020 by Allen & Unwin, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Kathryn Nicolai, 2020

Illustrations © Léa Le Pivert

The moral right of Kathryn Nicolai to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

E-book ISBN: 978 1 76087 350 9

Hardback ISBN: 978 1 91163 071 5

Printed in Great Britain

Allen & Unwin

An Imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

Ormond House

26–27 Boswell Street

London

WC1N 3JZ

www.allenandunwin.com/uk

For Jacqui, who makes my dreams come true

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

Winter Walk

A Walking Meditation

A New Leaf

In for the Night

For the Love of Words

A Little Romance

Fog and Light

Getaway

A Winter’s Day Watched from the Window

Matinee

Spring Rain

Closing Up Shop

The Asparagus Patch

First This, Then That

Tips for Putting Your Ducks in a Row

Early to Yoga

Restorative Yoga Postures for a Better Day

Crayons and Grains of Sand

Three Good Things

Three Good Things to Start Your Day

In the Bakery

Spring, at the Allotment

Mashed Chickpea Sandwich

Opening the Cottage

Meditation by the Water

The Lilac Thief

Coffee on the Stoop, or How to Have a Better Day

Ten Ideas for Simple Acts of Kindness

Fireflies on a Summer Night

Someplace Only We Know

A Concert in the Park

Summer Nights

Avocado Toast Four Ways

Off the Beaten Path

A Letter in an Envelope

At the Summer Fair

Stargazing in the Woods

The Dog Days of Summer

Loving-kindness Meditation

In the Kitchen, During a Storm

Spaghetti al Pomodoro

At the Museum, on a Bright Day

Summer Harvest

Simple Rosemary Potatoes

Back to School

A Block from Home

A Simple Relaxation Technique for When You Feel Anxious and Worn Out

In the Library

At the Farmers Market, on a Fall Morning

People Watching as Meditation

Rosemary, for Remembrance

Curing a Gourd

Canceled Plans

Instructions for Feeling Better after a Bad Day

At the Mill, with Pumpkins and Cider

Secret Admirer

Halloween, in an Old House

Crispy Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

Tools on the Workbench

A Cool Walk and a Hot Bath

Bath-time Rituals

A Rainy Day, Making Soup

Homemade Irish Cream Cordial

Outside at Night, with My Dog

The Day after Thanksgiving

Bustle in the City

Handmade Paper Ornaments

Getting the Tree

Snowed In

A Simmer Pot Recipe for Each Season

A Night at the Theater

Christmas Eve

Meditation for a Busy Holiday

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INDEX OF COZINESS

INTRODUCTION

How to Use This Book

Sleeping should be easy.

After all, it’s one of the most natural things for us to do; we need rest and we want to sleep. But sometimes we just can’t. What’s going on there? Well, most times our brains get in the way. The thinking mind is a bit like a truck with a brick on the gas pedal. It keeps going even when no one is there to steer it, and it’ll race all night if it’s allowed to. Add to that racing mind a busy, chaotic world, too much caffeine, and a scary amount of screen time, and it becomes obvious why so many of us aren’t finding sleep to be so easy.

But not to worry, friends; we can reclaim easy sleep and all the benefits and goodness that come along with it. It’ll take a little practice and the discipline to set a routine in place, but I promise before long you’ll be getting to sleep faster and staying asleep longer than you have since you were a kid. You’ll wake up feeling rested and relaxed, and you might even find that these stories plant a few extra seeds of mindfulness in your waking life as well. (Bonus!)

Sleeping is a modern superpower. Stories are old magic.

One of my earliest memories is of lying in bed and telling myself a story to fall asleep. I was probably four years old, and I still remember the story: a rags-to-riches tale with suspense and the sort of twists of fate that were part of the fairy tales my parents read to me. It had a happy, satisfying ending, and no matter how many times I told it, it worked to settle me before bed.

Whether I was using my own imagination to piece together a plot by moonlight or my parents sat on the edge of my bed reading someone else’s tale, I naturally gravitated to the time-honored tradition of telling a story to prepare for sleep. The truth is, I’ve never stopped telling myself stories when I climb into bed at the end of each day. And though they’ve evolved to feature fewer pirate ships and dastardly villains and more simmering pots of soup and sleeping dogs, they still work just as well.

We tell stories before bed for a good reason. Stories help us make sense of things; they can point us in a useful direction and give us a way to step out of the present and into a new place and time. They offer new perspectives and new ways of imagining our lives—and the lives of others. And when they’re told in a certain way, they can help us calm down.

I’ve been a full-time yoga teacher for seventeen years, and a regular meditator since 2003. In that time, I’ve learned a lot about how to trigger the body’s relaxation response and how the principles of mindfulness—paying attention to what is happening moment to moment in a relaxed way—helps staticky minds to quiet. Along the way I’ve studied a bit of neuroscience, and my library, along with books about physiology and pranayama, is stocked with books about brains and how to train them.

One of the key things I learned was that neurons that fire together wire together, which means that good habits can be a matter of practice. I had certainly experienced that myself: I had trained my brain over the years with my lifelong practice of using stories to sleep, and now sleep and relaxation are an automatic response to supine storytelling.

But as I got older, I began to hear friends and family talking about their sleepless nights, anxiety, and chronic insomnia. I started to see just how debilitating those conditions can be, from increasing our risks for heart disease, depression, and anxiety to generally just feeling lousy and grouchy. I realized my storytelling practice was actually a secret superpower—one other people desperately needed. But barring literally being there with them as they tossed and turned (which is both creepy and impractical), I wasn’t sure how to help.

One night I was (ironically) up in the middle of the night with my aging dog. As I sat with my beagle and rubbed her back, it hit me. A podcast with my stories. I could tuck people in at night with my voice. I could be there with my friends and family (and hopefully some other folks too) at bedtime. That night, sitting on the floor at three in the morning, I ordered a microphone.

Nothing Much Happens launched about six weeks later, and almost immediately I saw that my hunch was correct. I started to receive messages from listeners all over the world who told me that they were sleeping through the night for the first time in years or decades. This superpower was shareable.

I also began to hear about the other ways that listeners were using the stories. I heard about the man who listened while getting his chemotherapy, about the woman who’d been afraid to go to bed for years because of night terrors but now looked forward to tucking herself in at night and having pleasant dreams for almost the first time in her life. People wrote to say they had successfully gotten off sleep medications and that they felt rested and alert when their alarms went off in the morning. Families told me they listened together before bed and that little ones who’d been running around the house chicken-sans-head style had settled and slept within minutes. People listened when they felt anxious and then they felt better. Artists wrote to say they liked to listen while they drew or sculpted, and sometimes they’d send a picture of the art that the story had inspired.

This is the power of stories, and this is how I know that they work.

How to sleep.

One of the reasons we often struggle to shift from work mode into sleep mode is that we now carry work right into bed with us. We answer emails, obsessively check the same three or four social media apps, and receive and send texts moments before we try to find rest. No wonder the mind resists sleep or wakes us up at three in the morning to try to solve a problem we were working on just before we fell asleep. As far as our brains know we’re still working. We need to close the loops on our day in order to signal to our minds that work is over for the time being.

To get into these better sleep habits, you’re going to need to set some boundaries. If you can leave all your devices outside your bedroom, that’s great. Really, that’s ideal. It would change a lot. But if that’s not going to happen for you, you’ll need to draw a boundary somewhere else. Say thirty minutes before you want to start sleeping, you shut things down, switch your phone to do not disturb mode, and put everything with a screen in a drawer. Once work stuff is tucked away, undertake a little “Going to bed ritual.” Rituals can be really helpful in shifting us from one mindset to another. Your ritual might include brushing your teeth, washing your face, laying out clothes for the morning, saying good night to your pets or family members, or fixing a late-night cup of herbal tea. The idea is that you are creating a routine that signals to your mind and body that it’s almost bedtime, so you’ll want to fill this time with the things that signal that to you.

Next, get into bed and get comfortable. Adjust everything until it feels just right and let your whole body relax into your sheets.

Now that you’ve stepped away from your waking life and started the countdown clock for sleep, you need to give your mind someplace to rest. That’s where these stories come in. They are like a soft nest to lay your mind into, a cozy landing place after a busy day. Remember that truck with the brick on the gas pedal? Well, the stories are a tidy, well-organized garage to park it in. They’re simple and nothing much happens in them and that’s the idea.

As you read, let the details of the stories help you build a scene in your mind that you can really settle into. Lean into the parts that feel particularly cozy. Look at the illustrations and take in the specifics. When your eyes begin to droop, set down the book, turn off the light, and let your body be heavy and relaxed. Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it again. Breathe in and out. Good. You might even say to yourself, “I’m about to fall asleep, and I’ll sleep deeply all night.” As you lie drifting closer and closer to sleep, stay in the story by walking yourself though any of the details you can remember—especially anything that felt particularly cozy.

Sleep.

How to go back to sleep if you wake in the middle of the night.

Many people have no trouble at all falling asleep; it’s staying asleep that they struggle with. Often in those predawn hours the mind is allowed to turn back on: the truck engine revs to life, and getting back to sleep can feel impossible. The key in those moments is to get your mind back into the nest as soon as possible.

To do that let’s take one of our stories as an example. Imagine you’re reading the story “A Block from Home,” in which a person is heading home in the rain. See if you can put yourself in their position as they stop to buy pears and a small packet of almonds. Then, after they get home and turn the locks on the door to shut the world out, they lie on a sofa, and a kitty jumps up to join them. Doesn’t that feel nice? Doesn’t it feel just right?

Upon waking in the night, bring your mind right back to those details. I find it really helps to say the title of the story in your mind to signal to yourself that you are going into that world. Say to yourself, “A Block from Home.” Then think about the pears and almonds. Think about how it feels to get home on a rainy night and close the door behind you. Imagine yourself moving through the rooms of your house or apartment, lying down on your sofa, and drifting off to sleep. Doing this will disrupt your brain’s tendency to cycle through thoughts and worries. I promise. It will work.

When I started the podcast, along with all those emails from listeners saying the stories had put them to sleep, many more came from people who said that this particular technique worked for them as well as it always had for me. I saw reviews saying, “If I wake up in the middle of the night, I do what Kathryn says and think my way through the story and I go right back to sleep!”

This is brain training. Be patient. Be diligent. In time you will be amazed at how well you sleep. You will find yourself looking forward to bed, knowing that you have a sweet place to rest your mind till morning.

How to relax.

Besides sleeping you may find you need help being calm and staying centered during the day. First let me say, you are not alone. Many, many people struggle with anxiety. It is incredibly common, and when you combine the hair trigger on our fight-or-flight response with modern life, well, you’d be a rare person if you never felt anxious. It’s important to remember that when anxiety strikes, your capacity for higher reasoning goes off-line. You can’t talk yourself out of how it feels; you can’t reason with your brain at that point. Logic isn’t going to work, so instead you need to speak the language of the body and give the mind something to focus on.

When you feel anxious, do your best to find a place to sit down away from the noise and movement of other people. Start to shift your breathing so that it is traveling just through your nose. You need to use your breath to signal to your nervous system that all is well. To do this begin to count the beats of your breath. Breathe in for a count of four, and breathe out for a count of four. If your breathing is fast and shallow, do not worry. It will take a little time to for the signals to be received. That’s OK. Keep counting your breath and work on bringing it down into the bottom of your lungs so that you feel your belly expand as you inhale and retract as your exhale. You’re doing great. Now see if you can breathe in for a count of four but breathe out for a count of six or even eight, pausing for two beats before the next breath in. Notice the belly move as you breathe. In for four. Out for six. Pause for two. Do this for as long as you need to.

As your breathing slows and your chest relaxes, think back through some of the details of one of your favorite stories. Think of how something looked, tasted, or smelled. Stay with those bits of sensory experience. We are moving your attention away from the source of the anxiety and toward that bank of safe places in your own imagination.

The more you do this, the better you will get at it. You will start to accumulate evidence that you are able to quickly and comfortably calm and center yourself. You will start to think of yourself differently—not as a person with anxiety but as a person who knows how to calm down when anxiety happens. Well done. (And know that sometimes more help is needed in treating anxiety. Doctors and therapists and medicine are all useful, so please seek more assistance if you need it.)

Now you’re ready to start reading. The stories in Nothing Much Happens are laid out chronologically across the seasons. You might want to start with a story that mirrors the season you are in or maybe the season you are longing for, or you may decide just to start at the beginning—it’s up to you!

These stories are all happening in the same universe, in what I call the Village of Nothing Much. The owner of the bookshop might buy a pie from the bakery and hold the door on her way out for the couple that visits the cider mill and so on. As you discover the people and places in the book, you can explore the map on the next page, showing you a bit of the layout of this cozy little city. Come back to it as you read and imagine yourself walking along the streets. This will help you build the world of Nothing Much a bit more solidly into your imagination.

As you read, you’ll notice that stories that feature romantic partners don’t use gender markers; I write this way so that you can imagine yourself and your own life as unfolding in the stories.

Along the way you’ll also find a few extras. There are recipes and meditations and even a couple of crafts, all there to help make this world your own. There is also an index at the end of the book so you can search for a story based on your own favorite cozy criteria.

Now, settle yourself someplace snug and get as comfortable as you can. You’re about to head into the world of Nothing Much. It’s a friendly, familiar sort of place, with lots to savor and enjoy. Let’s all take a deep breath in through the nose, and out through the mouth. Again. Breathe in, and out. Good.

Sweet dreams, my friends.

Winter Walk

Deep snow had fallen overnight and the morning broke clear and cold.

I lingered at the kitchen table with an extra cup of coffee as I watched the light shift and the sun come up. Sunrise in deep winter, with its bright pinks and streaks of yellow, feels like an affirmation from Mother Nature herself. Yes, the days are short and the landscape coated in shades of white and gray, but the skies are vibrant. There is vibrant life in the thickest days of winter.

With the sun up, I opened all the curtains and let it slant into the rooms of my house. We hadn’t seen much sun in a while, and as I began my morning chores, I found myself stopping to look out and taking a few deep breaths.

Someone told me years ago that you get a better night’s sleep in a bed that’s been made—something about the feeling of tidiness and order helps you to drift off—so I’d made a habit of it, and it had become a kind of morning meditation. I did it the same way each time and took care with the process. I stacked the pillows on the armchair with a little ottoman in front of my bedroom window, where I sometimes sit and read, and I pulled back the duvet and sheet. I smoothed out the sheet underneath and pulled the blankets back up, walking around the bed and refolding and tucking the edges, then shaking out the pillows and plumping them back into place. I took a soft plaid throw that my kitty liked and swirled it into a nest and placed it at the foot of the bed for her. With curtains open and the morning light coming in, the room looked neat and inviting. I had a morning and an afternoon to enjoy but I was already looking forward to going to bed tonight.

With my chores done and the day becoming as warm and bright as it would likely get, I decided to bundle up and take a long walk in the fresh snow. I layered on a sweater and coat, thick socks and boots, a hat and scarf and gloves, and closed the back door behind me. As I began to walk, I looked out at the unbroken drifts of snow, at the peaks of old evergreens and the bare branches of maples stacked with a foot of snow. Winter walks are slow walks; you make your way carefully and a bit ploddingly, but they give you time for lots of thinking and noticing. Past the edge of the yard, I stepped onto a well-worn path and into thickening woods. I had a few acres, and this portion of my land backed up to more woods that were public lands, so I could walk for a long time and not run out of trees and wilderness. I remembered the winter walks I took with my family as a child. There was an empty lot at the end of the street and beyond it fields and clusters of trees, and while the whole thing was probably no bigger than a city block it felt like a secret land, a place where there was no end of exploring to be done. Children have this power, to look at something simple and everyday and imagine the wondrous.

I felt a growing warmth in my belly and chest from the exercise, and I inhaled deep breaths of the fresh air, letting it fill my lungs. The familiar paths looked new in the thick snow and I took a few turns, intentionally leading myself away from my usual route, knowing I could follow my boot prints back if I got turned around. I followed a frozen creek with just a trickle of moving water, and I walked past a thick grove of birch trees, their rippled white bark at home in the white winter, to an open meadow.

I had a sudden feeling that there was something there to see, so I stood still. She stepped out slowly from the trees across the field. A doe, tall and elegant. I guessed she’d seen me long before I was aware of her, but she’d trusted me and let me see her anyway. I was caught by her beauty and stood still and forgot to breathe for a moment. Then I called out, low and calm, “Nice day for a walk,” and she wagged her white tail and bent her head to nose through the snow for a bit of winter browse. I supposed she was as glad to see the sun as I had been this morning, and I reminded myself that we all have the earth in common.

I left her to her meal and followed my tracks back through the woods and eventually into my own garden. The long walk had made me hungry and I was already thinking my way through my fridge and pantry and mentally setting the table. I kicked the snow from my boots and stood in the back hall, reversing the process that had started this morning’s adventure. I went to my room to change snowy layers for warm fresh ones and found kitty curled into her spot on the bed. She turned her chin up in an impossible angle, wriggled lazily on her spine and let out a soft meow. I curled up around her and told her about the deer I’d seen in the open field. I told her she was probably back in her den by now, nestled down with her friends, and kitty purred. It was good to go out in the woods and walk and remember the fresh air, and then it was good to retrace my steps and tuck back into the warmth and comfort of home. The winter wasn’t over yet but the sun was out, and there was much to enjoy while we waited for spring.

Sweet dreams.

Children have this power, to look at something simple and everyday and imagine the wondrous.

A WALKING MEDITATION

There are lots of ways to meditate. You can practice in a traditional way, seated on a cushion on the floor. Or you can sit in a chair or lie down anywhere that you’re comfortable. But some days you might feel like adding movement to your meditation, especially when your mind feels very busy. On those days, try this walking meditation. You can do it inside or out.

Find some clear space, say, 10 to 15 feet. Since this exercise can look peculiar, you might want to pick a spot with some privacy. If you need some assistance with balance, find a space where you can walk with a wall at your side.

Begin standing with your feet situated under your hips, about 8 inches apart. Lift your toes, spread them out and set them back down. Feel your weight shift slightly forward so that your pelvis is balanced over the arches of your feet. If you are barefoot, notice the texture and temperature of the surface you are standing on. If you are wearing shoes, feel the weight of them on the tops of your feet. It might be very subtle. Lift your shoulders up to your ears and take a deep breath in. As you sigh the breath out of your mouth, roll your shoulders down your back and be still. Gently focus your eyes on a spot a few feet in front of you. Before you take your first step, spend a minute here just to feel the sensations in your body. When we spend a lot of time in our heads, we can get numb to what we feel in our bodies. When we meditate with movement we relearn to feel and be present with our own physicality.

Breathe naturally and keep your eyes open but relaxed.

We’ll now break up the next step into three parts. You may never have walked as slowly or deliberately as you are about to, but that will allow you to really feel the movement of each step, and feeling is meditating.

Shift your weight into your left foot and raise your right heel from the floor.

Slowly raise your right foot a few inches from the surface you’re standing on and feel the weight in your left foot. Walking this slowly requires more balance, so notice the muscles in your ankle and knee responding and supporting you.

Extend your right leg in front of you and touch the right heel to the floor a pace in front of your left foot.

Shift the weight into your right foot. As you do, your left heel will lift. You are back at the beginning of the process.

In this way, continue to slowly work through each step: shifting, lifting, stepping, repeating.

As you walk keep drawing your attention back to what you physically feel in your body. If you find yourself making judgments about the sensations you experience, take a moment to simply label that as “thinking,” then go back to feeling. If you reach a point where you need to turn around, do it with the same slow mindfulness you’ve applied to each step so far.

You may want to set an alarm for ten or fifteen minutes (or as long as you’d like to practice—on a beautiful sunny day I sometimes do this practice for an hour, feeling the grass under my soles and the breeze on my skin). An alarm will prevent you from having to monitor how much time is passing.

When your alarm goes off take one more step and return to the position you started in, feet side by side under your hips. Again, roll your shoulders up to your ears and take a deep breath in. Sigh out through your mouth as you relax your shoulders down onto your back.

Take this mindfulness with you into the rest of your day.

A New Leaf

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions.

After all, why wait for a specific day on the calendar to start something new? All the same, I like reflecting. I like having time to parse a thought or a feeling; to create, sketch, and write; to wander and explore. And the start of a new year is always ripe for that. So when I turn over a new leaf, it’s more literal than figurative: I turn the leaf of a new book, or a path on the trail, or a song on a record.

This time around, my fresh start was all to do with a new planner. I still like a physical paper planner, a pretty book in which to write my plans. I enjoy looking at a whole month or week at a time and setting down the dates I’ll do the things I mean to do. Last year’s was out of pages, and after a year of being carried in my bag and brought out and put away so many times, the hardbound edges were scuffed and the ribbon for finding the day had been pulled out and lost.

So a few days after the busyness of Christmas, I’d found myself on the street in front of one of my favorite shops, looking at the planners in the store window. This little shop has some of the best things: shelves full of blank journals and notebooks just waiting for you to write your great novel in; stationery in a hundred patterns with envelopes to match; sealing wax in a hundred colors and stamps with every letter. They have calendars, some silly with cats doing yoga, and some with the loveliest illustrations of tiny sweet worlds that you can get lost in. And they have planners.

When I stepped in out of the cold, I immediately noticed the smell of the shop, a bit like a library and a bit like a craft room. Actually, it smelled exactly like the library in my elementary school. Have you ever been stopped in your tracks by a smell that took you so powerfully back in time that you had to shake your head to clear it? I remembered the worn blue carpeting of my school, the tall stacks of books, and the excitement of wondering what was in all of them. I remembered pulling an old book off a shelf in a back corner and sliding the card out of the paper pocket inside the front cover to see when it had last been checked out and by whom. I went to a tiny school, which happened to be the same one my father had gone to as a child, and there on the card a few rows from the top, in a child’s handwriting, was his name. I guess in a small school it wasn’t such a coincidence that we should pick up the same book, but at the time, I remember standing stock-still on that blue carpet, looking around with wide eyes and wondering if the universe had just winked at me. I smiled at the memory and decided that along with my planner I would buy a card to send to Dad.

I started browsing, and before I knew it, I had a little pile of goodies: Dad’s card, a calendar to hang in the kitchen, a fresh pack of pencils (I could hardly wait to sharpen them), a packet of origami papers, and my new planner, which had all the features I liked plus a built-in pocket to store some notes and a few pages of stickers in the back. (Was I too old for stickers? I asked myself. Never.) Last in the pile was a new journal. I had so many, and I’d made myself a promise that I wouldn’t buy any more till I’d filled up the old ones, so I got only one.