Morning Meditations: With a Side of Coffee Drama
My day begins in a manner that could easily be described as performance art—part ritual, part chaotic improvisation. The first act? Coffee. Sampling espressos in Tuscany ruined me for drip coffee forever (I know, how delightfully insufferable), so my mornings revolve around coaxing my Italian-made moka pot to cooperate. Sometimes it hisses its approval; other days, it spits like a cat being offered vegan cheese, filling the room with aromatic defiance.
As I wait for liquid gold to emerge, I perform what I lovingly call my “museum of the morning shuffle.” The exhibit includes porcelain mismatched espresso cups from France, a watercolor print of Degas’ dancers, and my array of scented candles lined up like a curator’s pride and joy. Lighting one is my version of mindfulness. Today, it’s sandalwood with a whisper of lavender. Yesterday, it was something called “midnight bergamot,” which sounds like a moody indie band but worked wonders for setting a contemplative mood.
Practical Tip: Mornings don’t require a Gregorian chant and full yoga routine. Find one small action—lighting a candle, playing an Ella Fitzgerald melody—to ground you. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to feel like “you.”
Mid-Morning Muse: Productivity by Proxy
Some people schedule their day into time blocks. Me? I let my to-do list gently bully me into cooperation. Between replying to emails for This Publication and writing drafts on modern love (a curious oxymoron, don’t you think?), I pepper in tangible breaks for inspiration.
What does that look like? A 20-minute stroll in Central Park armed with a podcast about Jane Austen’s leading men (because Mr. Darcy is timeless and problematic). Or flipping through an old, dog-eared art auction catalog I grabbed years ago in London. My creative process is less a streamlined bullet train and more like an artist sketching in the margins of a Paris café—blurry, unhurried, but brimming with potential.
And yes, that deliberately misplaced whimsy sneaks into my dating habits, too. Don’t even ask me about the time I used an Ed Ruscha exhibit as a first-date destination. Let’s just say abstract art is not a vibe for decoding before cocktails.
Relatable Anecdote: The better dates? Unpretentious ones where you can focus on being yourselves. Think casual bookstores, jazz dive bars, or even strolling through farmers’ markets making up guerrilla backstories for strangers buying rutabagas. Trust me, I’m (accidentally) a pro.
Lunch Hour(s)*: A Love Affair with Leftovers
While my Instagram feed is probably filled with people eating poke bowls on perfectly arranged picnic blankets, I’m rooting through my fridge like a raccoon in a silk scarf, looking for yesterday’s French onion soup. Who has time for artisanal grilled cheese every day? Not me. I’m eternally grateful to a summer spent in Provence with an eccentric artist who taught me how to make soup good enough to freeze—and even better for reheating.
As I eat, I do something decidedly modern: I fantasize about running off to start a homestead, but with Wi-Fi and mid-century chairs. My afternoon break is indulgently low-key, but it refocuses me for the second half of the day. Overhead, an Ella Fitzgerald record crackles on while I let myself daydream about nothing in particular. Spoiler alert—it works wonders for creative dating ideas. (The next dinner party? A blind guests-only wine-and-poetry night. Manifesting future dates now.)
Humorous Insight: Never trust someone who says they’re “too busy” to enjoy lunch. If they can make time to scroll for memes, they can absolutely pause for pasta.
The Artful Afternoon: Tinder for Cultural Leisure
By mid-afternoon, I’m back at my desk engaging with my first love: art. This doesn’t mean I’m wearing a beret while reading Proust (though don’t tempt me). It could range from crafting an article about digitized museums to nostalgic rabbit holes in Vogue photo archives. My academic side loves blending old-world artistic values with modern culture, which leads to comparisons both profound and ridiculous. If the Sistine Chapel ceiling fresco were a relationship, it’d be a wildly toxic love triangle held together by divine intervention.
Art informs everything about me, including my relationships. The way I approach people mirrors how I approach paintings in a gallery: with curiosity and patience. But I’ll admit, not every masterpiece is destined to be taken home. Some are just there to be appreciated briefly, no strings attached.
Playful Observation: Modern dating is like making a collage out of vintage postcard scraps—there will be some trial and error, some snips and mismatches, but eventually, you’ll create something that feels uniquely, undeniably yours.
Evening Escapades: Romance with a Side of Tapas
While some nights find me at museum openings or candlelit East Village wine bars (because art-world networking masquerading as leisure is a thing), others are decidedly cozier. For example, this week, I hosted what I call a "first-date dress rehearsal" with friends. Let me explain. We tried “low-stakes tapas”—think charcuterie paired with unusual pairings like fig jam and everything bagel seasoning—to see if they could serve as a failsafe go-to for those “let’s cook together” dating nights that everyone oddly romanticizes.
It worked like a charm. And no, I didn’t burn the breadsticks this time. (Growth!)
Practical Insight: Cook alongside someone if they say yes, but cook for yourself first. That way, you’ll perfect the dish in private and avoid literal heartburn during your debut date meal.
Nightfall: The Exquisite Art of Doing Seriously Nothing
As the evening winds down, I veer into the "restoration" phase, which is just fancy language for changing into a cashmere lounge set and scrolling aimlessly through half-read books stacked on my nightstand. Tonight’s selection? A book on the psychology of attraction—because even my lazy hours tend to spiral into unintentional research. (The mind of a writer, folks, is never truly off-duty.)
This is also when I check in with myself. Was I kind to someone today? Did the day feel aligned with the life I’m building? And perhaps most importantly, did I make space for romantic optimism? Because, ultimately, the tug-of-war between cynicism and hope is where our best stories—and connections—are born. Relationships (whether romantic, platonic, or the one you have with yourself) will always flourish best when you make room for kindness.
Closing Encouragement: Whether your day was beautiful chaos, picturesque monotony, or somewhere delightfully in between, remember that your daily rituals are an art form in progress. Treat them as such. There’s no right way to navigate your path, only your way. So light that candle, wing that tapa recipe, or dare to ask yourself—what’s my next masterpiece going to look like?
