Tonight's cozy sleep story,
The Lake Cabin Sanctuary,
Invites you to settle in as the gentle sound of rain carries you to a quiet cabin by the water.
Settle by the hearth as the honeyed light of the fire cloaks you in warmth while I share the entries from my personal journeys that have inspired our most beautiful sleepy getaways.
Allow the waves of nostalgia to ease you as we journey through time together remembering the simple moments that make life so rich and heartwarming.
Snuggle in the quiet cabin loft as the rain dances on the skylights.
And slumber offers a chance to connect with your own most beloved moments in this life.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I'm Michelle,
Your guide to soothing escapes when the world needs more softness.
Think of me as your dear,
Long-time friend whose voice you may follow or allow to fade into the background as sleep arrives.
I hope to help you celebrate making it through yet another day.
This rainy sleep story is inspired by a lifelong love of journaling and stories from long ago that led me to create the Sanctuary.
I hope for it to become one of many sleepy journal stories.
They just might offer a little bit of insight into the world we now share.
All of these stories are born from the idea that simplicity is the ultimate luxury.
And as you luxuriate in this gentle moment before crossing the bridge to sleep,
Let's take a few minutes to unwind,
To release the day as I count us down from five.
Let out a sigh and with it,
All your lingering thoughts may dissolve.
Any time they pop up,
As they are so known for doing,
Your breath may cast them into the night.
Inhale slowly as your room takes on the rich mineral fragrance of a lake.
And fresh rain falling on spring blossoms.
Maybe you yawn and sigh once more,
Letting out a sound.
Feel free to breathe deeply and however you like as I count us down.
Breathe.
Feel the weight of your body sinking deeper into the support of the night.
Like a smooth stone drifting down,
Down,
Down and landing in a lake bed.
Let your toes and feet go heavy.
Imagine the cool,
Damp world of spring outside,
Soaking up the rain like a sponge while you remain perfectly warm and dry.
A wave of relaxation moves up through your legs and into your hips.
Release any tension you're holding in your lower back.
From the beginning to the end of your spine,
Every vertebra settles.
The rain massages your ears with its song.
The gentle pulses traveling throughout you,
Giving you an invitation to find more release.
Washing everything away with a spring cleanse.
3.
Your shoulders drop away from your ears.
Your arms feel heavy and supported.
Softly inhale the cool night air,
The scent of lush grass and crushed wet cherry blossoms,
Becoming a healing promise of new beginnings.
2.
The muscles in your neck and jaw let go.
A softness like the wax of candles arranged on a cabin hearth.
Your tongue rests easily.
Your breath guides you through the night with the effortlessness of the sighing wind that welcomes the new buds on the trees.
1.
Your forehead smooths out.
The space between your eyes grows dark and quiet.
2.
From the crown of your head to the soles of your feet,
You are contained in a vessel of peace.
Just as the cabin awaits to be a vessel of hope on the stormy night.
It's time for the story to begin.
A cabin by the lake has long been my dream escape as an adult.
Something held in the back of my mind and inspired by my own later childhood days,
Growing up in a charming lakeside community developed in the 1970s.
3.
My family home was a modest raised ranch,
A cookie cutter design with low ceilings and cream-hued walls.
But our family friends were right on the water,
With a three-story log cabin and private beach.
4.
The copper logs and soaring A-frame ceiling framed the wall of glass that looked out on the still lake from their quiet cove.
5.
The warmth of the logs felt timeless and rustic,
Always as lustrous as a new penny.
6.
Tall pines rose like protective pillars on both sides of the cabin,
Perfuming the air with their sharp yet sweet resin.
7.
On the first warm days of spring,
We'd make our way over to this cabin,
Me and my two siblings,
And gallop down the damp green hill of fresh grass to leap off the dock into the icy water.
But even as our lips turned blue and cold shivers made our words impossible to understand by the adults,
We would beg for another minute of floating beneath the twilight skies.
Some summer nights,
I'd sleep over in the loft,
Drifting into the deepest sleep,
Feeling like a bird nesting in the top of the towering pines that surrounded the cabin.
8.
Come morning,
My heart would swell with the promise of new adventures,
As I looked over the railing and witnessed the white gold sun pouring through the windows and reflecting like a million diamonds on the lake.
9.
The smells of breakfast would waft up into the highest rafters,
And like a little spy,
I could watch life unfold below me,
Knowing a cold glass of orange juice was waiting whenever I decided to descend the stairs.
It's quite funny how nostalgia works.
These memories meet me with loving details,
When back then,
My skinny young arms would glide through the lake with pure ambition and drive to one day begin life anew in New York City.
It was a far more powerful yearning than the gentle wave of longing I sometimes feel for that lake cabin.
But as time goes on and dreams are realized or fade and transform into new dreams and hopes,
I find that all these beautiful places live within me.
An internal patchwork quilt of memories,
Rich and evocative,
Where I draw all the familiar cozy feelings that I hope resonate with you as you listen.
10.
My wish is that they tie us together,
With an unbreakable thread of hope and understanding that this beauty is always within reach.
The deep wells of connection and love are always there,
Waiting for us to take a dip into their abundant healing and reminders of how the simplest moments can create the most captivating memories.
11.
I invite you to come along with me to this lake cabin sanctuary,
Perhaps someplace in the future,
A time when all things have settled and we come back to a sense of profound unity and understanding of how lucky we are for all the abundance of this era.
Dreaming is a form of planning,
You see,
And if we dream it together,
It's sure to be waiting for us somewhere in the near future.
12.
The sky is a deep plum gray as a steady sheet of rain falls on the stony path to my front door.
Antique glass lanterns flicker from the cast iron sconces that frame the front door,
Painted a glossy crimson shade.
13.
Raindrops land on the tall blades of emerald grass,
Which seem to grow without restraint this time of year,
But their lush hue and promise of more warm days to come make me less inclined to trim them down just yet.
14.
Hundreds of dandelions join the tiny forget-me-nots to form a saturated carpet of plushness and spring that rolls down into the glassy lake.
15.
Tonight,
The lake is a moody mirror,
Receiving the rain's persistent patter,
Merging with an ease that instills a sense of our own fluidity.
16.
Beneath an oversized umbrella,
You travel with a small personal bag of belongings.
Although the cabin is quite abundant with necessities and toiletries,
Should you need anything during this visit.
17.
Within the cabin,
My long-haired chihuahua Ike is curled up in his bed by the harp,
And he stirs from his sleep to greet you.
The scampering and clicking of his tiny feet across the hardwood floors may be heard from the other side of the threshold,
And his welcome barks preempt your chance to knock.
He's a good guardian,
No matter where we go.
From the hearts of Manhattan,
To a farmhouse in a remote area beneath the stars,
From a seaside motel,
To this cabin by the lake,
Ike is always looking out for me and whoever he invites into our pack.
18.
Not fond of getting wet,
He won't go so far as the doormat to greet you.
As the smart chi-chi is aware,
I might scoop him up for an impromptu walk.
But I rise from my favorite wine-hued velvet chair by the fire that overlooks the lake and dreary sky,
Grateful for your company on this dark,
Rainy night.
I open the door and welcome you,
Inviting you to leave your wet belongings in the mudroom as Ike spins in happy circles at your feet,
With his tail dusting the floor and his bottom half wiggling uncontrollably.
Soft jazz music plays in the background,
And the fire crackles and pops,
Its amber glow rising and reflecting off the tallest exposed beams.
Nearly all my adult life,
I resided in the coziest,
Yet not necessarily roomiest,
Of Manhattan apartments,
And always felt that it would be unfair of me to have this much space unless I meant to share it with other souls.
And for that reason,
And many more,
I am so glad you've arrived to spend a night at this healing lakeside sanctuary.
With your feet now dry and warm in plush slippers,
I invite you into this open-concept cabin.
Ike can no longer resist the chance to greet your fingers with kisses,
While he may not enjoy the rain on his paws.
He loves nothing more than to taste the few drops that remain on your hand.
I invite you to share a treat with him,
And this chihuahua becomes putty in your hands.
The initiation has commenced,
And you are now a welcome member of our pack.
There's a small spread on a round table by the fire,
Some snacks and drinks that you most enjoy.
I invite you to make yourself at home,
And Ike is already settled back into his bed,
Closing his eyes,
Feeling safe in your presence.
You look around the main room and recognize things that my dearest friends always mention.
That I'm a woman who loves color and a touch of sparkle.
Dried lavender wreaths I picked up at the farmer's market are tucked into the corners,
And the sofa and armchairs are buried under piles of lush chenille and fuzzy blankets in an array of purples,
Turquoise,
Cream,
And gold.
Eugalyptus winds around the exposed beams,
Intertwined with fairy lights that cast just enough glow to see by.
Candles are abundant,
Their gilded wicks flickering from wide-mouthed jars,
Small tea-lit fixtures,
And intricate iron sconces.
There's a massive,
Rustic table in the center that's seen plenty of long dinners,
Easily grand enough to seat ten guests.
The wide,
Winding staircase leads to the loft,
Where the guest bedroom waits for you whenever you wish to unwind.
My life is all over these walls,
In an array of eclectic frames I've either inherited or discovered at antique shops and garage sales.
They draw you in,
And you find an image of me performing my first show at the bitter end.
In my early 20s,
Dressed in purple and singing a torch song about some neglectful older beau who was raised with a silver spoon and could never really relate to my early,
Meager days.
You find that collage of my annual pilgrimage to Times Square for the summer solstice yoga,
Making bendy shapes against a backdrop of blinking and neon ads.
A yearly reminder that if I could find peace in this chaotic hub,
Then it could be found anywhere.
A collection of photos throughout the decades captures me with my chihuahuas sprinting down beaches at sunset,
And one of me sharing an apple slice with Ike on a long island pier.
You see the memory of me on a junk boat cruise,
Peering out at the limestone karsts of Ha Long Bay,
A trip to Vietnam I'd yearned to take since I was 10.
And then your eyes catch one of me and my four nieces and two nephews,
We're all covered in flour and pasta dough,
Looking like a mess in the best way.
There's one of me,
Wrists deep in steamy water,
Teaching a room of strangers how to form the perfect burrata.
Then there's a shot of me on the ice in Central Park,
The plaza behind me looking like a movie set,
On a rare quiet evening that I had the rink merely to myself.
Every photo is a piece of how I got here,
A map of the places I've been,
And the people who have made my life so special.
As you return toward the fireplace,
You notice a journal I was scribbling in before you arrived.
I write so much for others that I don't always have the time to scrawl my own thoughts,
But it's a practice I've been returning to.
Just beyond,
You see a shelf of all my journals through the years,
Some still empty.
There's no gift I've received more often than a new journal from a loved one traveling the world or meandering through a local bookshop with me in mind.
You settle into the chair and I invite you to all the snacks and drinks you desire as I rise,
Grabbing a small slice of a jazz apple to nosh on myself.
I break off a tiny piece of the apple and offer it to Ike,
Who is now sitting with a new alertness.
I don't know what it is,
But the sweet tangy crunch of an apple always soothes me,
And the sound of my chihuahua crunching along just doubles the pleasure.
As you settle,
I stoke the fire and add another log as the rain comes down in a deluge.
Beyond the glossy curtain of rainwater,
The lake becomes a swirling distant cloud of dark blue and silver.
Perhaps how Van Gogh might have imagined a bleary night like this,
As your drink slips down your throat in a warm,
Silky cascade.
My attention shifts to all these journals.
I've promised my nieces and nephews access if and when they ever wish to peruse.
I like to think my journey gives quite a detailed view of the highs and lows and ultimate resilience of the human spirit.
I know some of those lessons I've learned.
I'd be more than happy to have read from the pages of a loved one's journal rather than experiencing them alone first-hand by myself.
But that's just me,
Of course.
There's a lot of my life written in these pages.
A lot of late nights and early mornings.
Sharing them feels a little like inviting you into the backrooms of my mind,
And so I decide to take one from the shelf.
The linen cover is soft to the touch,
A deep black backdrop with dark pink and marigold blooms.
I randomly run my fingers through the feathery lined pages.
Back then,
I wouldn't consider a journal without them.
The lines kept my thoughts steady,
And my teenage mind was known to wander,
And my pen was sure to recklessly follow.
I land on a page,
And you ask me to read it.
September 20th,
1999.
Ike comes over and hops up on my lap,
And with both your encouragement,
I begin to read the words of me from another life.
I'm sorry I haven't written sooner,
But so much has happened in the past few weeks.
This is it,
At last.
I've made it to New York.
I chose the housing for school on Roosevelt Island because it came with far fewer restrictions than the Y and gives the most beautiful view of Manhattan across the river.
My parents brought me down in the family's red Pontiac Transport,
A futuristic-looking minivan with a sloped dashboard that reminds me of a dolphin's beak.
It was on the loan to me for much of my senior year,
But I am so happy to now be in a place where I can walk for hours,
Wandering through neighborhoods and exploring on foot.
My first day settling in,
I rode the tram across the East River with my parents,
And it felt more like a Disney adventure than a daily commute,
And the first big storm in the city was enough to convince me of how impractical it was.
But just the same,
Even across from Manhattan,
I couldn't help but feel that at last,
I am finally home.
I'm not sure I'd easily ever admit this to my parents,
But when they left,
There was a brief moment where I wondered how I could ever truly pull this off.
New York City was no longer a distant fantasy or escape.
Now I'm faced with the reality of being 17 and on my own.
As my father hugged me goodbye,
It was the second time in my life I've ever heard his voice waver,
Choking up and saying,
I could always come home.
But if only he knew,
Or could even understand,
That no matter how many lifetimes a soul could have,
My soul would always come back to the city.
I wonder if everyone feels a powerful connection to a place as I do to New York.
Even when I'm alone,
I never truly feel alone.
Stories unfold around me.
Millions of other souls living out the mundanity of life in a place that is as far from mundane as I've ever been.
I keep my costs low,
And the tram was truly a novelty,
As my unlimited metro card is far more savvy than the extra tokens that the tram requires.
At night,
I skip the red bus home to save my quarters for the occasional 35-cent splurge on a fresh bagel from Grace's,
A fancy grocery store near my college on the Upper East Side where many celebrities can be seen shopping.
But the bagels are always glistening,
Yet warm and crusty,
And about the only thing I can afford from that place other than maybe a banana.
But that doesn't matter much at all.
I am free.
That freedom is something I cannot ever take for granted.
My college arranged a double-decker bus tour of the city on my first week here.
I settled on the top deck at sunset as the red bus slowly made its way down through the neon lights of Times Square.
The tour guide,
Who is also an actor,
Invited us all to look at the masses below,
Explaining how there's a moment when all new city transplants arrive,
And everything shifts.
The way they move and navigate the concrete canyons with confidence and an unblinking gaze,
Weaving with efficiency,
Immune to the chaos,
Yet unafraid to share a knowing glance every now and then.
The guide spoke of when he had at last blended in,
Finding his rhythm here.
For some,
He said,
It could take a few months,
Or maybe even a few years.
But as he said this,
I knew that it would happen for me.
The girl whose bedroom was plastered with postcards of the city skyline.
From magenta sunsets to the deepest blues of nightfall.
And now I live those scenes out every day,
Saving that quarter,
And instead enjoying a 20-minute walk along the East River,
Taking in the city lights of my new home as the river splashes the rocks below,
Doubling their beauty.
If I could make this one dream come true,
I'm certain so many more will follow.
I close the journal for a moment to check in and ensure you are comfortable and not bored by my old stories.
Predictably,
Ike is asleep and lets out a sigh.
I sense a wave of sleepiness arriving for you and me.
Crackling fire and falling rain,
Doing their best to lull us.
But you ask for one more passage,
And so I flip through the soft pages once more and land on the day,
March 19th,
2000.
I can't imagine a bigger birthday gift on the 6th than getting to celebrate it in this concrete paradise,
But I've managed to manifest some amazing things.
My new best friend,
Stephanie,
Arranged a surprise celebration.
We met on Broadway and 50th Street to go to the Stardust Diner,
Chosen simply because it's where I'd often go to listen to the singing waiters and get a pulse on future jobs I might like to do when I arrived.
I started going there when I was 12 or 13.
As we settled in the booth,
She presented me with 18 gifts.
I've never received that many birthday gifts before,
Certainly not from one person.
I have no idea how she pulled it off,
Financially or even practically,
But every gift spoke to my dreams and wishes and was there to inspire me.
Weeks ago,
I had mentioned to her that my biggest wish was to perform at a jazz club on my 18th birthday.
I had sheet music carefully tucked in my tote,
But a wave of nerves nearly changed my mind.
But Stephanie was resolute,
Insisting we go.
And as we arrived at the open mic of a nearby club on 54th Street,
She sat in the front row.
The hosts,
An older married couple that could have been clones for Steve and Edie,
Were warm and encouraging as they took the stage and invited me up.
I handed my sheet music to the pianist.
I gave a few instructions and took the small stage.
Forgetting to repeat a verse,
But surprisingly and effortlessly,
I recovered as I finished.
Human spirits need to be leavened by a little levity,
So take those blues and bounce them off the walls.
Keep your humor,
Please,
Cause don't you know it's times like these that laughter matters most of all.
Hearing my voice throughout the club was something I've never experienced before.
The dark,
Cavernous space felt intimate and safe,
And there was Stephanie in the front row,
Cheering me on.
A soul sister who above all else,
Like me,
Felt that nothing in life was more important than following a dream.
I closed the journal.
The snap of the cover is quiet,
Marking the end of the reading.
The fire in the hearth has settled to a soft,
Steady pulse of burning embers,
And the rain outside continues with its endless rhythmic patter against the glass and log cabin walls.
I stand up and help gather your bag,
Motioning for you to follow me toward the stairs.
I'll lead you to your room,
I say softly.
We make our way across the creaking hardwood floor,
The space feeling vast and shadow-drenched in the low light.
Ike trots ahead,
His little paws clicking against the wood as he guides us to the base of the stairs,
Pausing only to make sure you're following before he leads the way up into the loft.
Once we reach the top,
The space is airy and quiet.
I set your bag down on a wooden hope chest at the foot of the bed.
The room smells of dried lavender,
Cedar,
And fresh rain.
A quiet ceiling fan circulates the cool night air.
As I turn to head back downstairs,
Ike trots over to me,
Giving you one last glance before he turns to follow behind.
As I descend,
I dim the lights for the night,
Leaving you in the soft,
Private stillness of the suite.
Alone in the cozy loft,
You notice the hues and fabrics soothe you perfectly as you prepare for sleep.
Once you're done with your bedtime ritual,
You slip beneath the weight of the quilt,
Feeling its heavy,
Comforting warmth press against you,
Holding you steady.
As a sleepy headiness arrives,
The rain is a constant,
Soothing percussion against the skylights above,
And everything winds down as you get lost in the sleepy rhythm of the rain,
Feeling as safe as a human ever can.
Within these cabin walls,
The simple pleasures feel profound as you drift into the softness.
And as you approach the delicate space between wakefulness and slumber,
You remember the dreams you've dreamt for yourself.
The quiet,
Soft moments feel richer than you may have ever imagined.
And in this private nook,
The world outside has entirely fallen away,
Replaced by the deep,
Hushed peace of this lake sanctuary.
Every muscle in your body releases,
Letting go into the mattress.
And as the lights stay dimmed to a barely perceptible sliver of glow,
You begin to drift,
Connecting with your own dreams,
Safe and settled.
Finding comfort,
Finding bliss,
Finding sleep.
