A hotel room somewhere, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for jet lag

The story, in full

The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Stay with the weight of your body.

Just the breath. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Sleep.

It travels well. Hotels, spare rooms, other people’s sofas.

The end. Sleep well.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.