a meadow, thirteen small things, and the receipts
A meadow that’s gray in the morning and clears as you do small things in it. Thirteen things now — seven from the first day, six new this season — one to three minutes each. None of them are new; each one is borrowed from a study where doing it, not reading about it, moved how people felt.
Because you clear it. The line in the corner says who did it, and it means it. That’s the whole design: the sky is a record of what you did today, and it resets at midnight so it can be true again tomorrow.
Each activity comes from at least one controlled study where people who did the thing felt measurably better than people who did something similar-looking that wasn’t the thing. The effects of one dose are small. The effects that last come from repeating it for weeks. Every page below says the small number, not the big one, and has a section called the honest part.
Everything you type. There is no account and no server that sees it. The mic, if you turn it on, listens for breath or for your words to put in a box, and records nothing. Location, if you allow it once, is kept as a rough latitude and longitude on the phone so the sky can follow your real sunrise.
The meadow has a twin. When it's late and the sun is down, a train shows up at the far end of the field and takes you to After-Hours — a city, dark tonight, with its own seventeen small things and its own receipts. Same idea, different weather.
Sunshine is made for everyone, and built for the people who feel the difference. If you’ve ever thought work should be designed around you, rather than you being redesigned to fit it, that’s what Attuned Work Design does.
This is a small, cheerful thing, not treatment. If today is heavier than a two-minute thing can reach, say so to a person. In the US, 988 answers calls and texts around the clock.
Back to the meadow →from Attuned Work Design
Anything you type in the meadow stays on your phone. There is no account and no server that sees it. · About · Make one for someone