Morning Magic: Coffee, Journaling, and a Ritual Without a Screen

Like clockwork, I do what many Coloradans might consider a sacred rite of passage: I wake up early—not for a sunrise hike, but to sit at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee and my journal. No phones allowed. It’s a hard rule. Honestly, I think my phone has abandonment issues between the hours of 7:00 and 9:00 AM, but that’s by design.

This ritual is my odd little portable sanctuary. Putting pen to paper feels raw, grounding—even a little indulgent. I jot down dreams (like that one where I was arguing with a moose about rent), random thoughts about yesterday—who knew grocery store small talk could linger this long?—and anything else that needs untangling. Call it an on-paper brain comb if you will.

The rest of the world? Still dormant. My coffee—brewed in a French press because I, too, like to pretend I’m one PBS documentary away from becoming a coffee connoisseur—leaves the entire kitchen smelling like comfort. If I’m feeling particularly inspired, I’ll scratch out a rough paragraph or two for the environmental essays always lingering in my drafts folder. But mostly, I get quiet clarity, a small rebellion against morning chaos.

Pro-tip: If you’re deep into a relationship or even just navigating those early stages, this kind of analog check-in with yourself is prime headspace territory. It’s harder to send the “What are we?” text at 8:23 AM when you’re too busy doodling inside the letter “O” on the word "overcommitment."

The Flatiron Reboot: How I Make Hiking About Connection

At least once a week, right around mid-morning, I grab my well-worn boots, fill up a reusable water bottle (hydration aesthetics are everything), and throw on whatever plaid button-up my laundry rotation permits. The Flatirons call, and they’re not particularly subtle about it.

But the hike isn’t just about bagging elevation—it’s about recalibrating. My weekday hikes are less about cardio and more about connection: to the earth, to my ideas, sometimes even to other people. The ever-shifting dance of wind through trees hits different when I’m mulling over big questions like “Is this relationship ready for the next step?” or “Should I really go all in on this new freelance project?”

There’s something about hiking that bonds people—a shared understanding that rocks are hard, the sun is hot, and, wow, we’re really out here, breathing the same dusty air. Literal steps forward translate so smoothly into metaphorical ones, and if I’m hiking with someone, it inevitably leads to deep conversations. Ever tried defining emotional boundaries at 8,000 ft? I highly recommend it. Something about the altitude really encourages honesty.

Not dating anyone? Go solo. The trail is one of the few places where being alone doesn’t feel like being lonely—it feels like intentional independence. Bonus: You might run into someone cute with a dog. That’s real-life flirting, not app-induced dopamine, and if it involves dogs, well, you’ve already got a built-in icebreaker.

Lunch: A Sandwich with...Well, Questions

Lunchtime is quiet but deliberate. My sandwich game is strong—thanks to years of living in Boulder where even your average turkey and cheese comes with opinions about kombucha pairings. If I’m feeling overachieving, I’ll whip up something avocado-adjacent; if I’m not, peanut butter it is, and we’re not judging here. Food, like relationships, shouldn’t be too high-pressure.

I also use this time to mentally check in with commitments (personal, professional, emotional). I recommend literally asking yourself questions while eating, which sounds a little “Eat, Pray, Love,” but, bear with me—questions like:

  • “Am I prioritizing people who prioritize me?”
  • “When was I happiest this week?”
  • “Did I overshare about my composting obsession on that date last night?”

You’d be amazed how much clarity arrives between bites of pretzels.

Afternoon Adventures: National Parks Over Daydreams

Even though I’m mostly living that work-from-home life these days, I often find myself mentally rerouting to wherever my favorite national parks live in my memory. I spent two years in Seattle surrounded by constant drizzle, daydreaming back to the Rockies’ brutal simplicity: crisp air, pine needles under every footfall, and boulders that all seem to demand, “Climb me, I dare you.”

When time allows, I’ll drive out to lesser-known trails, places that don’t trend on Instagram but sit in my soul’s bookmarks. Denver folks use Instagram captions like “nature is my escape,” but for me, it’s rarely escape—it’s a mirror. Nature is a second relationship I’m constantly nurturing, and the parallels between maintaining your connection with a person and with wilderness are vivid. Both require effort, patience, and the willingness to leave no trace.

Speaking of: If you’re visiting any green space, please avoid the classic first-date mistake of treating it as your personal photo studio. Leave the trendy wide-brim hat at home unless it’s actually serving a functional purpose.

Evening Wind-Down: Cooking, Reflecting, Recharging

There’s this saying my dad used to toss around: “Dinner is the heart of a home.” We’re foodies at heart in my family—or at least food optimists—and most nights, I try to cook something uniquely mine. It's not major Instagram content (sorry, salmon that looks just okay in lowlight), but it reflects the kind of grounding I want in both my meals and my relationships.

Cooking can feel deeply romantic, even when it’s just for yourself. A solid risotto is as much love language as it is carbs, and there’s no shame in lighting a candle for your own Tuesday-night effort. Ever notice how preparing food alongside someone makes even silence feel intimate? Whether I’m alone or with someone else, the process of making dinner is insistently present.

From there, I usually lower the lights, throw on a playlist (The Lumineers are mandatory, sue me for the stereotype), and settle in with a book. I tend to reread Desert Solitaire like it’s going out of style, though lately, I’ve made space for bell hooks because romantic relationships and environmentalism aren’t as separate as I once thought. Both require care, resilience, and the language of really listening.

Final Thoughts: Finding the Rituals That Anchor You

Here’s what I’ve come to realize: The places where we carve out rituals—for ourselves or with others—are where we get to be the most honest. From head-clearing hikes to overthought sandwiches, each part of my routine holds clues about what kind of life (and love) I’m ready to nurture.

Whether you’re in the throes of new love, figuring out if you even like dating, or simply trying to learn how to take yourself on solo dates, the rituals we lean on are part of the answer. There’s no one path to connection—just like there’s no “right” way to drink your morning coffee or handle that awkwardly long hug goodbye.

So, find the anchoring habits that keep you real. Lean into them. Relationships—like Flatiron views or first espresso sips—are best appreciated with intention.