Morning Magic: Dancing Through the Chaos
My mornings start with the kind of grand reveal that no Hollywood screenwriter could resist: the alarm buzzes, I swat at it like a villain thwarted in an action film, and then lie there summoning the will to untangle myself from my impossibly soft coastal quilt.
But here’s the twist: my “snooze button ritual” includes a mental rundown of today’s vibe. I call it my “energy forecast.” Am I feeling productive like it’s a Hermione Granger-first-day-of-school mood? Or am I more of a forget-my-wand-and-call-the-day-a-dud Ron Weasley? The forecast shapes how I approach every task, person, and fleeting thought.
Once my slippers meet the hardwood floors, I head straight to the kitchen to make coffee—a bold mug of French press, because I refuse to rush this part of the day. There’s a café-quality frother nearby, but I’ve deemed it unnecessary flair since my time as a barista in our family café. My coffee is more than caffeine; it’s a meditation. I sip it slowly as I watch light creep over the dunes outside my window.
Yet, by the sixth sip, my to-do list starts tap-dancing in my brain (uninvited, of course), so into action I go.
The Beachfront Hustle: Where Creativity and Chaos Collide
Being a freelancer in a beach town sounds like a Nicholas Sparks daydream, but I assure you my workflow isn’t all sun-kissed boardwalk strolls. My mornings jump between piecing together client edits, sketching out essay ideas, and responding to emails that contain enough exclamation points to rival a Taylor Swift lyrics sheet.
Here’s the unexpected piece of my workday: breaks involve short beach walks to collect treasures. Sea glass, driftwood, pebbles that somehow gleam brighter than my mood when deadlines pile up. This isn’t just some artsy thing I do for kicks. It’s grounding. There’s something deeply honest about rolling your shoulders back and letting that salty breeze filter through your brain fog.
And for anyone wondering, yes, I’ve used seashell metaphors in at least three relationship articles: “You have to let the tide wash in the right people.” Cheesy? Fully. Irresistible? Also yes.
The Midday Shuffle: Multitasking Meets Self-Discovery
By the time midday rolls around, you can usually find me at my desk—a DIY situation involving reclaimed wood and minimal Pinterest-level skills. There’s a sprawling corkboard above, riddled with notes, diagrams, and dad jokes from sticky notes. I read somewhere that you should surround yourself with visuals that spark inspiration. Turns out, mine includes wrinkled postcards of old travel dreams and quotes from Carson McCullers like, “We are homesick most for the places we have never known.”
Tight deadlines keep me physically planted, but my mind wanders back into relationships, culture, and the strange, universally awkward act of trying to connect with other humans. Sometimes it’s a bit like building a sandcastle—solid foundation one minute, crumbling under pressure the next. I tackle hundreds of little issues or chase rabbit trails on the psychology of why people are drawn to the “bad texter” archetype. (Spoiler alert: it’s a little dopamine, a little drama.)
My midday ritual, though, lives in the form of lunch—always on the porch when weather permits. Today, it’s a Caprese sandwich drizzled with balsamic glaze, because it tastes like summer in a way I can almost believe will never end. Call it romanticizing, but you need moments like this for balance. A little calm before you re-enter the storm of work, life updates, or writing headlines catchy enough for someone scrolling at lightning speed to actually stop and read your words.
Sunset Solitude: The Unexpected Relationship Reset
Once 5 PM rolls around (okay, sometimes 6:30), I slip back into something I did long before freelance work consumed my schedule: a walk alone along the boardwalk. This part of the day is where my unexpected dating ritual gets weirdly reflective. As I spot young couples taking their barefoot photos in the sand and older pairs sharing funnel cakes without a word spoken, I remind myself that every single connection—great, messy, or fleeting—teaches us something.
Like the guy I dated who loved mansplaining things like how to cook fried shrimp (to someone who literally grew up running a café). Or yet another New York summer crush whose energy felt dazzling but made me miss the Lowcountry stillness in a way I can’t describe. I sometimes sit on the weathered bench near an old pier, wondering if all those little heartbreaks added up to something greater than their sting. I decide they do because they eventually bring us closer to who we’re meant to be—or who we definitely are not.
Bonus? Cranking Lizzo or a little Etta James over my AirPods while the water laps against the shore. A solo beach walk might not sound groundbreaking, but let me tell you, choosing your soundtrack to life while making peace with the past is pure magic.
The Sweetest Nights Are Always the Simplest
Don’t let anyone tell you that a fulfilling evening routine means grabbing cocktails or chasing epic plans. Some nights, that’s my move—meeting friends by the marina to laugh about shared mishaps. But nine times out of ten, I’m happiest on my second cup of tea, flipping through the pages of a creased paperback, one I found in the “local authors” section of a chintzy boutique.
Even as I unwind, I find ways to explore relationships through stories—fictional or otherwise. It’s fascinating how human connective threads knot and unravel, and what draws us in like a low tide calling us to search for treasures along the shore.
My nighttime ritual may not scream “movie montage,” but it’s steeped in creativity, growth, and a little reflection. Usually, I jot down leftover ideas from dusk—tiny fragments of dialogue or wisdom about heartache wrapped in metaphor-laden musings about slow sunsets.
Here’s the Takeaway
Life, like relationships, isn’t supposed to be a Pinterest-perfect capsule of aesthetic snapshots. It’s far more interesting with its unpredictability, its little rituals, and its winding-you-back-to-yourself mentality. Whether it’s cultivating time for calm or finding ways to laugh at the mess, there’s something poetic about showing up for your life wholeheartedly—even when the waves don’t behave.
So, for me, every day feels a little like standing at the edge of the Grand Strand—where the land ends, the sea starts, and a soft breeze carries the promise that tomorrow is another chance to reshape what connection and growth mean. And if you can keep a cup of French press and a cheesy metaphor nearby, all the better.
