A bus at night, when you are short on time — for winding down

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full.

Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.

Feel your cheeks let go. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Let them. Let the quiet be boring.

Let your breathing do the rest. Just the weight. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

Pick this one when you are short on time.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.