Morning Routine: Chasing Calm (and Coffee)

6:47 AM. Not 6:45. Not 7:00. My alarm is set for this specific, slightly absurd time because, as I’ve convinced myself, those extra two minutes matter. Like many of you, my first conscious thought is coffee. Not metaphorical “I need caffeine” coffee, but “this is my ritual, my grounding, my sacred act of boiling water and grinding beans” coffee. Blame my parents and their brewery roots. I’ve always been drawn to the idea of turning the everyday into an indulgence, even if it’s just culturing a tiny habit.

Once my “pour-over symphony” is complete, I sip it barefoot in my backyard, watching sunlight creep over the foothills’ golden brow. Here, I check in with myself—a moment of peace before the day inevitably snowballs into the melee of deadlines, relationship wrangling, and email reminders.

But—and this is crucial—I also text myself. I know! A little weird. But hear me out. I send past-me notes like, “Leslie, you didn’t crack into that day-old tiramisu last night. Proud of ya.” Post-coffee me writes motivational morning reminders in response. It’s my quirky way of practicing self-compassion: Leslie vs. Leslie, the buddy comedy.

Midmorning: Productivity (and Mild Procrastination)

By 9:00, I’m perched at my desk—a hand-me-down oak beauty older than my grandparents’ farming days—with a slightly secondhand stillness lingering from my sunrise moment. From here, I volley between juggling an editing stack and people-watching my street through the big picture window. Jeep bumper stickers are a thing around here in Boise, and honestly, every time I see “Adventure Awaits” on someone’s car, I feel like the universe is calling me out for writing in sweatpants.

But creativity doesn’t care if you’re polished or pajamaed. My mantra is simple: jot down the good ideas and survive the bad ones. If sentences feel stiff, I’ll pound out a short hike along the Boise River (nature’s most effective writer’s block cure). By the time I duck back, sweaty-haired and five shades pinker, the words seem to flow freer than river rapids.

And if I still can’t focus? I sometimes turn to the “Bribe Yourself Like You’re Five” method. Favorite chocolate bar? One paragraph earns you a square. Laundry folding chore? Finish that email first. This silly exchange between productivity and reward often ends up bafflingly effective.

Afternoon: The Sweet Spot of Overthinking

The golden window of my personal brainpower kicks in around 1:35 PM, which may be the most random detail you hear today but hey, welcome to my world. This is when I hit my stride—whether dissecting dating trends with an article deadline staring me down or spiraling into existential hypotheticals like, “Did I swat away a soulmate when I dismissively rolled my shopping cart past the kombucha aisle guy last week?”

Speaking of dating (because life always cycles back around to it): working from home lends itself to many bizarre dating epiphanies. For instance, I keep a running list called Things Everyone Should Stop Saying in Their Dating Profile. (Yes, I know I said no dating app talk earlier. Just indulge me this once.)

Here are my main offenders:

  • “I’m fluent in sarcasm.” (Join the club.)
  • “Looking for my partner in crime.” (You’re writing a profile, not auditioning for Ocean’s Eleven. Let it go.)
  • Anything mentioning “foodies” but paired with a blurry photo of a half-eaten pizza slice.

But I digress. Oh, and before I forget—if it weren’t for my mom’s texts at 3:05 sharp about “seeing if I’m still eating vegetables like an adult,” I’d subsist exclusively on coffee and Trader Joe's peanut butter cups during this stretch of the day. Moms: keeping us from becoming modern-day hobbits.

Evening Rituals: The Dance of Balance (and Dinner)

Around 5:30 PM, my boyfriend and I perform what I lovingly call “The Great Dinner Debate.” We’re both indecisive and dangerously polite about suggesting meals. “Pasta?” I offer. “If you want.” (Translation: He doesn’t.) “Tacos?” “If you feel like it.” But no one ever dislikes tacos, so that usually wins. Overdressed for casual taco night, I pull out a sleek dress and boots—because I like to keep the romance alive by dressing 20% fancier than necessary.

What follows post-meal is what my dad deems “Relationship 101”: mutual silence on separate screens. In our defense, one of us is curating a quirky TV lineup involving equal parts rom-coms and weird documentaries (My Octopus Teacher, anyone?), while the other scrolls through car restoration videos on YouTube. Not naming names.

But we end the screens by 8:30-ish and slide into what we call “The Ramble Hour”—a long walk through historic Boise neighborhoods, where we pretend we’re house-shopping for the dream Victorian or mid-century modern masterpiece. These walks help us reconnect, and sometimes an innocuous pebble of a comment turns into a boulder of truth about what we want long-term. Communication wrapped in casual strolls: 10/10 would recommend.

Nightcap: Quiet & Quirks

Before bed, I revisit my text-to-self thread—a final check-in where I thank today-me for showing up. Call it my form of dating myself, because frankly, even in relationships, we all need to keep dating ourselves. I think about the women before me—my Idahoan farmer grandma especially—who, barefooted and earth-scraped, found joy in daily rituals that were simple, but brimming with intention. They didn’t know we’d all grow up clicking dating profiles or endlessly predicting Instagram algorithms in 2023, but I like to think they’d chuckle at my over-complicated morning coffees, followed by grand life reflections.

I dim the light, plan vague goals for the next sunrise, and let sleep eventually take over, along with the messy, goofy, love-filled connections that make all of this worthwhile.