The Night Ferryman: A Sleep Story Read by Matt Walker

Matthew P. Walker (0:03)

Good evening, it's Matt here. Before we start, I want to just mention a partner of tonight's Sleep Story, which is the company Puori. For over a decade, I've been an avid consumer of protein shakes, but the hard thing in the supplement space is trust. That is, finding a brand I trust with what I take into my body. That's when I came across the company Puori, and its really impressive founder. Even though it makes them less profit versus other less committed companies, Puori takes quality seriously. They have so many offerings beyond protein powder, but quality was my primary focus. Why did I choose them? Well, it was for four reasons. First, it's free from hormones. Second, it's free from GMOs. Third, it's also free from any pesticides. And finally, every batch is third party tested for over 200 harmful contaminants, like heavy metals. Also, if you are a nerd and neurotic like me, you can even scan the QR code on the back product to see your batch's test results. As for my personal recommendation, the dark chocolate flavour is my obsessive strong preference, since I do have a bit of a chocolate sweet tooth that I rarely get to indulge. And it's not just clean, it delivers 21 grams of protein per serving. And for folks of my podcast, right now you can save 20%. Go to puori.com/mattwalker. Again, that's puori.com/mattwalker and use code Matt Walker at checkout. Let's begin by arriving here, wherever you are. Feel the weight of your body against whatever surface holds you. Let that surface do its work. You don't need to hold yourself up anymore. Breathe in slowly. And out. Tonight, I want to tell you about Marcus, who pilots a small ferry across a quiet lake after dark. The lake sits in a valley between two small villages that have faced each other across the water for as long as anyone can remember. During the day, a larger ferry makes the crossing a practical vessel crowded with commuters and deliveries. But after sunset, when the last daylight boat has docked, the crossing belongs to Marcus and his smaller craft. His ferry is old but well kept, with wooden benches worn smooth by decades of passengers and a small cabin where Marcus stands at the wheel. It carries perhaps a dozen people at most, though it rarely holds that many. The night crossings are quiet affairs, a nurse finishing a late shift, a teenager visiting a grandmother, a traveler who missed the last day boat and found, to their surprise, that the journey continues after dark. This evening, as the last light drains from the sky, Marcus unties the ropes and pushes off from the eastern dock. The engine hums beneath his feet. A low steady vibration he's come to know as well as his own heartbeat. The water parts softly around the bow and the village lights begin to shrink behind him. There are three passengers tonight. A young woman sits near the front, her coat pulled tight against the cool air, watching the water. An older man has taken his usual spot near the cabin. Marcus recognizes him, a widower who visits his wife's grave in the western village every few weeks. And near the back, a boy of perhaps ten, traveling alone with a small backpack, his eyes wide with the particular wonder children reserve for experiences they'll remember forever. Marcus doesn't ask where his passengers are going or why. He's learned that the night ferry attracts people in moments of transition. Between places, between chapters, between who they were and who they're becoming. The crossing takes 20 minutes, and in that time, suspended between two shores, something shifts. He's seen it countless times. People bored carrying weight and step off somehow lighter. The lake is calm tonight. It's surface reflecting the first stars like scattered coins. There's no moon yet. But Marcus knows these waters so well, he could navigate them blind. Every current, every shallow, every place where the wind tends to push. The lake has taught him patience over the years. It has its own rhythms, its own moods. And the ferryman's job is not to fight them, but to work within them. The young woman at the bow hasn't moved. Marcus wonders what she's thinking. Watching the dark water slide past. Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps that's the gift of this crossing. Twenty minutes where thinking becomes optional. Where you can simply exist between one place and another, belonging fully to neither. He remembers his father, who piloted this same ferry for forty years before him. The old man used to say that the night crossing was sacred time. Not in a religious sense, but in the older meaning of the word. Set apart, different from ordinary life. People trust you with their in-between moments, his father told him once. That's not a small thing. The older man has closed his eyes. His face peaceful in the dim light from the cabin. The boy is leaning over the railing now, trailing his fingers in the water, feeling the cold rush of the lake against his skin. Marcus doesn't tell him to stop. Some experiences need to be felt to be understood. Halfway across, Marcus cuts the engine. The sudden silence is enormous. The ferry drifts on its own momentum, and for a long moment, there is no sound at all, just the soft lap of water against the hull. The distant call of a night bird, the breathing of four people suspended in the middle of a dark lake. He does this sometimes, when the conditions are right. Let's the ferry float. Let's the passengers feel what it's like to be truly between. No engine pushing them forward. No shore close enough to reach. Just the water, and the sky, and the stars, multiplying above them. The young woman looks up. Finally, her face has changed. The tension around her eyes has softened. She doesn't seem alarmed by the stopping, just curious, open. The boy has frozen with his hand still in the water, as if breaking the stillness might break a spell. This is what Marcus loves about the night crossing. Not the getting from one place to another, but these moments of pause. The world moves so fast during the day. Everyone rushing, everyone certainly know where they're going. But here, in the dark. In the middle of the water, there's nowhere to rush to.