Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, when you are short on time — for jet lag

A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your palms open if they were closed.

Your chest can be still now. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.

Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.

Your ankles can go loose now. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Just the breath. Let the room get slightly further away.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Softer.

Pick this one when you are short on time.

There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.