A notification ping wakes me up—right around 6:17 a.m., not because I’m that precise but because my cat, Solstice, is. She’s perched on my chest, shooting me a look like, You know what time it is. My alarm should go off at 6:30 a.m., but we’ve played this game before, and spoiler alert: she always wins. So up I get, groggy but determined to seize the day. What follows? A series of unexpected rituals that ground me, prepare me, and sometimes, make me laugh at myself. Spoiler alert: love and connection somehow sneak into all of it.

Morning Anchors: Matcha, Journaling, and… Random Acts of Neighborhood Gossip

I ease into the morning with a warm cup of matcha. Why matcha over coffee? Because I spent a semester in Barcelona desperately trying to drink espresso until I accepted I’m not cool enough for coffee culture. Matcha is calming, earthy, and just the right shade of pastel green—not a bad metaphor for how I like to start my relationships, too, come to think of it.

As I sip, I stare out my window into the neighborhood. East Austin mornings hum with life that isn’t quite caffeinated yet—an indie musician walking their rescue dog, a retired art teacher pruning a rose garden that could make Monet cry, the hipster couple across the street debating how to compost (again). It’s all mundane and magical, and I take it in as I sit with my trusty freewrite journal.

Yes, I journal every morning. It's not because I think I’m Carrie Bradshaw. It’s because my therapist once told me that “clarity starts on the page but lives in your actions.” Sometimes I jot down quirky things I’ve seen, sometimes it’s dreams I had, and sometimes I write “WTF was THAT text last night?” Whatever lands on the page, journaling is the one time I let myself be messy, imperfect, and real. Side note: that’s also my motto for flirting—messy doesn’t mean bad; it means honest.

The Commuter Hour: NPR, Red Lights, and Relational Epiphanies

After feeding Solstice (always the priority, lest I incur the wrath of a hangry feline), I make my way to my nonprofit gig. Working in arts education means every commute doubles as brainstorming time, though I wouldn’t dare call it that. My sound companions? NPR and ‘80s alt-rock playlists. Nothing inspires thoughts about creative equity like The Cure serenading you with “Just Like Heaven,” right?

Here’s the funny thing about a commute: it’s a lot like the start of any new romantic connection. You have an idea of the destination but no idea how long it’ll take or what detours you’ll hit. Sometimes my drive has me psych-analyzing strangers through a windshield: Is the truck driver on the phone arguing with their partner? Are the teens carpooling to high school exes who forgot to block each other?

Then one day—while stuck at the sixth red light in a row—it hit me. The commute, like dating, works best when you loosen up about timelines. You’ll get where you need to go; the real question is, are you enjoying the playlist while you're at it?

Lunch Hour Escapes: Tacos and Self-Reflection Sessions

Let me say this clearly: tacos should be their own love language in Austin. My favorite spot, a hole-in-the-wall food truck that never skimps on guac, is where I take myself on solo lunch dates. Why? Because treating yourself kindly is the ultimate prep work for treating someone else kindly.

During these taco-fueled midday moments, I reflect on the big stuff in life. For instance, am I showing up for someone in the ways I hoped I would? Or am I overthinking texts because my brain assumes that a delayed response by three hours must mean interest level = zero? The tacos don’t give me answers (though they do come close), but they remind me that self-awareness grows in quiet, unhurried spaces. And, sometimes, salsa spills. Carry napkins; life happens.

A Post-Work Dive Into Connection: Dance Classes and Unlikely Duos

I move from nonprofit meetings to an entirely different type of collaboration: partner dance classes. Now, let me clarify something—I’m no Ginger Rogers. Depending on the night, I’m more of a “Ginger... waddling vaguely towards rhythm.”

East Austin boasts a killer fusion dance scene, blending anything from tango to two-step. I joined because I craved connection that wasn’t filtered through a screen. (Can we agree that all-day Slack convos zap the soul?) At first, I was terrified—dance floors demand a level of vulnerability most of us only associate with first dates. I showed up in sneakers, praying I wouldn’t step on anyone’s toes—both literally and emotionally.

Here’s what I learned: dance is a lot like navigating a new relationship dynamic. Sometimes you're leading, sometimes following, and occasionally you step back and laugh at how impossible things seem until something clicks. And here’s the kicker—sometimes the most unlikely dance partners make the best connections. I once learned more about trust and rhythm from a 75-year-old retired jazz musician than I did swiping through any dating app.

Social Evenings, Reserve Energy: A Love Letter to Setting Boundaries

Here’s the thing about being an extroverted introvert in a buzzing city—you quickly become a pro at selective socializing. On a good night, I’m grabbing Tex-Mex with my nonprofit coworkers or joining a community art showcase with friends. On wilder nights (read: game night Thursdays), I might sip wine while crushing people at dominoes... or embarrassing myself at trivia with obscure Game of Thrones facts I haven’t updated since Season 6.

But if my energy’s low? I bail guilt-free. Why? Because the ability to honor how drained or recharged you feel is its own act of self-connection. So yes, I’ve canceled RSVP-ing to yet another “networking mixer.” And guess what? I’ve never regretted prioritizing rest.

The Late-Night Wind-Down: Solstice Rules All

At the end of a long day, you’ll find me sprawled on my couch, lit by the warm glow of twinkle lights. Solstice has somehow taken over the other half of the space because—as her Instagram caption reads—she’s the Beyoncé of cats.

I typically end my day the way it begins: winding down and reflecting. Sometimes that's with journaling round two, sometimes it's scrolling Pinterest for modern art ideas that I’ll probably never recreate but love looking at anyway. It’s also when I mentally “check in” with how I showed up for people that day. Did I uplift my coworkers? Did I bring humor to someone who needed it? Did I text my sister back before she sent a passive-aggressive “…”? I do this not as a guilt trip but as part of being tuned into my values.

Because, ultimately, those little acts—like showing up for the people I care about—are the heartbeat of my life. It’s not about chasing perfection but nurturing connection.

Final Takeaway: Life Happens in the Layers

If there’s one thing my days have taught me, it’s this: connection, whether with yourself or others, is built in the mundane layers of life. It’s in the morning matcha, the reflective taco breaks, the stumble-filled dance floors, and the reassurances you whisper to yourself before bed. It’s messy and imperfect but profoundly yours to shape.

So, sip the matcha. Take the wrong turn. Step on toes (lightly). And let connection find you in the unexpected corners—you never know when it’ll surprise you.