I have a new ritual before I sleep.
I don’t know when exactly it became a thing. There wasn’t some intentional decision where I sat down and thought, Right, from tonight onwards, this is what we’re doing. It just happened. I started listening to one particular song at night, and somehow it became attached to that strange little space between being awake and finally surrendering to sleep.
The song is “Won’t Start Now” by Seph Schlueter.
And I swear, something happens when I listen to it.
I don’t know what.
That is the part that makes this interesting.
Maybe it’s the song itself. Maybe it’s what the song makes me feel. Maybe it’s the thoughts I go to bed with afterward. Maybe my subconscious has simply decided that this particular combination of lyrics, timing, expectation and sleep means something good is coming.
Or maybe I am just noticing what I previously would have overlooked.
Whatever it is, I have started noticing a pattern.
I listen to the song at night.
I fall asleep.
And somehow, I wake up to orders.
Not every single night. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I have discovered some supernatural e-commerce hack and that everyone should immediately start playing the song beside their bed.
But enough times have happened that I’ve started raising an eyebrow.
Okay… what exactly is going on here?
The funny thing is that I didn’t even start listening to it because I wanted orders.
I think I just liked how it made me feel.
There is something about hearing those words at the end of the day that settles somewhere deep inside me.
The song begins with this almost ridiculously simple observation: “I’ve never seen a morning the sun forgot to rise.”
And I don’t know why, but that line gets me.
Because of course the sun rises.
It doesn’t need me to remind it.
It doesn’t need me to panic about whether it will happen.
It doesn’t need me to check the sky every thirty seconds to make sure it’s still coming.
It just does.
Then the song moves into this idea of faithfulness, of having never lived a moment without being accompanied, and eventually arrives at the words that seem to have lodged themselves somewhere inside my head:
“You’ve never left me in the cold… and You won’t start now.”
There is something powerful about repeating a sentence like that before sleep.
Not because repeating words magically changes reality.
But because the mind is listening.
Even when I think I’m simply lying there listening to music, some part of me is absorbing the message.
You won’t be abandoned.
You won’t be left alone.
Whatever comes, you won’t be on your own.
Those are very different instructions for a brain to fall asleep with than the usual late-night nonsense.
What if this doesn’t work?
What if sales are low tomorrow?
What if something goes wrong?
What if I can’t afford it?
What if…
What if…
What if…
The mind is incredibly impressionable when you repeatedly give it the same story.
And perhaps I’ve accidentally stumbled into something.
Maybe I have been giving mine a better story to work with.
I listen from my laptop, usually in the dark.
No headphones. I have tried that before and quickly discovered that sleeping with headphones is deeply uncomfortable. So the laptop sits somewhere nearby, the song playing quietly while the room gets darker and the day finally disappears.
Mornings wouldn’t work for me anyway.
My mornings are usually chaos in the most ordinary way. I’m moving up and down, getting things done, dealing with orders, thinking about the business, figuring out what needs to happen next.
There isn’t much space for lying around listening to a song and contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
Night is different.
Night is when everything becomes quiet enough for me to hear myself think.
And sometimes I forget.
Sometimes I listen to something else entirely.
Sometimes I don’t listen to anything.
So it’s not even some perfectly disciplined ritual that I perform every single night without fail.
But whenever I do listen to it, something about it stays with me.
And lately, I have been noticing the mornings.
I wake up.
I reach for the laptop or phone.
And there it is.
An order.
Sometimes more than one.
Sometimes a payment.
Sometimes a new inquiry.
Sometimes just something small that makes me pause and think,
Huh.
I know how this sounds.
I can already hear the rational part of my brain clearing its throat.
Correlation does not equal causation.
Yes.
I know.
A song cannot reach through the internet and make someone buy a product.
It cannot manipulate an algorithm.
It cannot force a customer to click checkout.
It cannot magically make money appear in a bank account.
I understand all of that.
But I’m not entirely convinced that means nothing is happening.
Because perhaps the interesting part isn’t what the song does to the customer.
Perhaps it is what the song does to me.
There is something about repetition that gets under the surface.
You can hear a sentence once and think nothing of it.
Hear it every night for a month, and suddenly you’re carrying it around without realizing it.
The conscious mind might say, Nice song.
The deeper part of you might be quietly taking notes.
We are safe.
We are supported.
We are not alone.
Things can work out.
Morning always comes.
You won’t be left behind.
And then you sleep.
That matters.
Because whatever we repeatedly feed ourselves eventually becomes part of the mental environment we live in.
If I go to sleep every night consuming fear, I shouldn’t be surprised when fear is the first thing waiting for me in the morning.
If I go to sleep thinking about everything that could go wrong, my mind doesn’t magically switch off just because the lights are out.
It keeps working.
It keeps calculating.
It keeps searching.
But what happens when I give it something else?
What happens when the last thing I hear is:
“I know I won’t be on my own.”
What happens when the final message before sleep is:
“You’ve never let me walk alone. Not even once.”
Maybe some part of me finally exhales.
Maybe my subconscious gets the memo.
We are okay.
We can sleep now.
And perhaps I wake up differently.
Maybe I’m more open.
Maybe I’m less defensive.
Maybe I notice the order that came in overnight instead of waking up immediately looking for what’s wrong.
Maybe I approach the business with expectation instead of dread.
Maybe I make a better decision because I didn’t spend half the night mentally fighting tomorrow.
Maybe I simply sleep better.
And maybe that changes everything more than I realize.
I have become fascinated by how much of life happens before we consciously decide anything.
We think we are rational beings walking around making deliberate choices all day.
But so much of what we do is habit.
Patterns.
Associations.
Expectations.
Things we’ve repeated so many times that we no longer notice them.
And that makes me wonder what else I can teach my own mind.
What if I repeatedly tell myself that money can come easily?
What if I repeatedly imagine my business being full of aligned customers?
What if I expect people to pay on time?
What if I expect opportunities instead of constantly anticipating rejection?
What if I stop treating abundance like some rare event that occasionally happens to other people?
What if I make having more than enough feel normal in my imagination before it becomes normal in my physical life?
I don’t mean sitting around doing nothing and expecting the universe to run my business for me.
Please.
I have work to do.
I know that.
I will still create.
I will still sell.
I will still improve.
I will still show up.
I will still answer customers, develop products, build my websites, grow my audience, pursue better opportunities and do everything I can to make the business stronger.
But there is a difference between doing all of that while believing nothing is ever enough and doing it while believing there is more available to me.
That difference feels enormous.
Maybe this is why the song has started feeling like more than a song.
It has become an anchor.
A tiny nightly reminder that I don’t have to know exactly how tomorrow will unfold.
The lyrics even say, “I’ll never see a breakthrough come that isn’t right on time.”
I keep thinking about that one.
Because breakthroughs are strange.
We usually recognize them after they happen.
Before they happen, they often look like nothing.
Just another day.
Another post.
Another product.
Another customer.
Another invoice.
Another attempt.
Another ordinary Tuesday.
And then suddenly something shifts.
A door opens.
A number changes.
Someone says yes.
An opportunity arrives.
A business takes off.
A problem that seemed impossible gets solved.
And you look back and realize the breakthrough didn’t arrive with a drumroll.
It was simply waiting somewhere in the sequence of ordinary days.
Maybe that’s why I’m not even desperate to figure out whether the song is causing the orders anymore.
I’m more interested in what happens when I let myself believe that good things can happen while I’m asleep.
That life doesn’t stop moving simply because I have stopped working.
That I don’t have to be awake, anxious and actively controlling everything for something beautiful to happen.
There is something incredibly abundant about that idea.
I can rest.
And things can still move.
I can sleep.
And someone can still place an order.
I can put the laptop down.
And an opportunity can still find me.
I can stop chasing for a few hours.
And life can still meet me halfway.
That is a beautiful thought.
And maybe I need more of those.
Not because I’m trying to escape reality.
But because I am building a reality that I actually want to live in.
I want a life where good things aren’t constantly preceded by panic.
Where money isn’t always associated with urgency.
Where receiving doesn’t feel unusual.
Where an order notification doesn’t feel like a miracle because there are enough of them that they have simply become part of my normal life.
I want abundance to become boring.
That might be one of the strangest desires I’ve ever had.
I don’t want every good thing to feel shocking.
I want it to feel ordinary.
Of course the business is doing well.
Of course there is enough.
Of course the bills are covered.
Of course there is money in the account.
Of course people buy.
Of course opportunities come.
Of course I can afford the things I need.
Of course life keeps getting better.
Maybe that’s what I’m really practicing at night.
Not manifestation.
Not superstition.
Not even necessarily faith.
Expectation.
I’m practicing the feeling of not being surprised by good things.
And then there are those mornings when I wake up and find an order.
And I smile.
Because for a few seconds, I don’t care about the explanation.
I don’t need to dissect the algorithm.
I don’t need to calculate whether the customer had already been planning to buy.
I don’t need to prove that the song caused anything.
I just look at the notification and think,
Well… look at that.
Maybe coincidence.
Maybe psychology.
Maybe faith.
Maybe the subconscious doing its quiet little job.
Maybe the song simply makes me sleep with a different mind.
Maybe that different mind makes me behave differently.
Maybe that behavior compounds.
Maybe expectation changes perception.
Maybe perception changes action.
Maybe action changes results.
Maybe all of those things are happening at once.
I don’t know.
And honestly, I’m enjoying not knowing.
Because not everything needs to be reduced to an argument.
Some things can just be beautiful little mysteries we carry around.
So tonight, I’ll probably put the song on again.
Maybe I’ll listen to it all the way through.
Maybe I’ll fall asleep halfway.
Maybe I’ll forget and play something else.
And maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up to another order.
Or maybe I won’t.
Either way, I like the message I’m falling asleep with.
“You’ve never left me in the cold… and You won’t start now.”
There is something deeply comforting about that.
It reminds me that I don’t have to know where every good thing is coming from.
I don’t have to know which opportunity will arrive next.
I don’t have to know which customer will place the order.
I don’t have to know exactly how the next level of my life will unfold.
I just have to remain open enough to receive it.
And awake enough to recognize it when it arrives.
So perhaps the song isn’t a magic button.
Perhaps it is something better.
Perhaps it is a nightly conversation with the part of my mind that keeps listening even after I have fallen asleep.
A quiet instruction.
Expect good.
Expect provision.
Expect movement.
Expect that you are supported.
Expect that morning will come.
And perhaps, eventually, the mind stops arguing.
Perhaps it simply says,
Okay.
Let’s see what tomorrow brings.
And then I go to sleep.
Because somewhere beyond the darkness of this room, tomorrow is already becoming.
And maybe, just maybe, there is an order waiting for me in it.
