Morning Routines: Where Chaos Meets Calm
My mornings start with a negotiation. Not with a human (those come later) but with my alarm clock—which, by the way, is not your standard digital buzz box. Oh no. Mine is an old-school analog clock with an actual bell that rings like a toddler demanding attention. It’s charmingly retro and slightly terrifying, and I bought it during a phase where I romanticized the minimalist life. I was convinced it would inspire me to wake up with poetic purpose, Mary Oliver-style. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.
Still, I’ve developed a system. Three taps on the snooze button (purely out of principle because, well, #TeamSleep), followed by a dramatic leap out of bed like I’m auditioning for an off-off-Broadway play titled “The Perpetual Monday Morning.” Coffee comes next—a French press ritual that feels unnecessarily bougie, sure, but grinding the beans myself makes me feel like I’ve got some control over my life. The truth? The caffeine is doing all the heavy lifting.
And then there’s the playlist. Morning music is sacred. On this particular day, it’s equal parts OutKast and Bon Iver. Nothing sets the mood like existential indie vibes being interrupted by André 3000 reminding you to “shake it like a Polaroid picture.” A metaphor for life if I’ve ever heard one.
Midday Moments of Pretending I Have My Life Together
I spent years imagining that working from home would make me one of those serene, candle-burning intellectual types who sips green tea and writes in sunlit rooms with perfect posture. Reality check: My “office” is the corner of my living room that’s just out of the cat’s reach (meet Claude, destroyer of keyboards).
By midday, I usually hit my stride—sort of. I’ll have a string of Zoom calls with publishing clients or editorial brainstorming sessions, where I juggle metaphors like Tom Cruise in Cocktail. But you know what they don’t tell you about pacing your day? The importance of actual pacing. That’s right—I take a purposeful lap around the apartment between calls as if it’s a penthouse suite (it’s a one-bedroom). Walking helps me clear my head or, at the very least, trick my Apple Watch into believing I’m an Olympic sprinter.
Sometimes, inspiration comes when I least expect it. The other day, while prepping a literary pitch, I found myself staring at the titles on my bookshelf, trying to summon brilliance. For no reason whatsoever, my eyes landed on Moby-Dick, and before I knew it, I was spiraling into a comparison between dating and whale hunting. (Spoiler: Don’t obsess over your “white whale.” It’s exhausting, and spoiler alert, it doesn’t end well for Ishmael either.)
I know what you’re thinking: “Julian, are you even eating?” I am! But it’s usually something weird and thrown together, like avocado toast with kimchi because food trends from two different decades are obviously better in combination. Pro tip: Keep your fridge stocked with something funky—it’s a conversation starter for surprise romantic lunch dates.
Afternoon Breaks (…for a Brooklyn Adventure)
Here’s the thing: If I don’t leave the house at least once a day, my soul starts to feel like a doughnut with no filling. Brooklyn’s streets are my personal dopamine hit.
On my best days, I’ll take my bike—yes, it has a name (Carla)—down to the waterfront or ride through Prospect Park. There’s nothing like being surrounded by other people’s joy—kids playing soccer, friends awkwardly balancing cheese platters at a picnic. It’s one of those moments where I remember that connection doesn’t always have to be intimate or intense; sometimes, it’s as simple as waving to another cyclist.
Other days, I opt for low-key errands that somehow turn into mini-adventures. Case in point: I once walked into my local bookstore to pick up a second-hand Murakami and left with a flyer for a salsa-dancing workshop I never knew I needed. (More on that later.)
The takeaway? Give yourself permission to stray off course. Whether it’s a detour in your afternoon or your love life, some of the best surprises happen when you least expect them.
Evening Zen Goals Meet Reality
By evening, the city morphs into something entirely different. The air feels electric, and I’m either in a dimly lit cocktail bar with mismatched chairs and absurdly complicated drink menus (Brooklyn in a nutshell) or back in my apartment, pretending to be the main character of every indie drama ever made.
My evenings often start ambitious. On days when I’m not hosting a dinner party (a Carmichael family tradition I’ve adapted to my millennial life), I try cooking something “stress-free.” Cut to 30 minutes later: I’m battling burnt onions while listening to a guided pasta-cooking meditation on YouTube. I don’t know who in the internet ether decided cooking pasta required inner peace, but honestly, they’re not wrong.
Dinner is when I get reflective, which is a polite way of saying I overthink. Whether I’m meeting a romantic prospect, catching up with friends, or simply scrolling through my mental catalog of literary ideas, I find the evening is the perfect time to connect—or reconnect. That salsa workshop? Well, let’s just say I met someone who could make a bad dancer like me look good. (Pro tip: Shared hobbies are secretly just the universe’s icebreakers.)
And then comes reading. I end every day with a book—not because I’m obligated to as a writer but because books remind me of the infinite ways we’re all just trying to piece together meaning. Plus, I firmly believe no day is complete without a little fiction. It gives you something to dream about when the real world feels too predictable.
Lessons from the Everyday Circus
So, what’s the grand takeaway from my not-so-flawless, sometimes-chaotic routine? Connection comes in surprising forms—whether it’s with a stranger on a park bench, the protagonist of a book, or yourself mid-pasta-meditation. Most of all, I’ve learned to honor the messiness.
Because let’s be honest: Life is a balancing act, whether you’re juggling deadlines or relationships (or an overly ambitious stack of avocado toast). But if you’re willing to lean into the randomness, the detours, and even the burnt onions, you’ll find that every day is teeming with opportunities to grow, laugh, and—most importantly—relate.
So the next time your day feels less Instagram-highlight-reel and more blooper-reel, remember this: The bloopers are where the magic happens. And if all else fails, call it character development.
