Morning Rituals: Coffee… and Contemplation
I’m not someone who greets the morning with a spring in my step—which might surprise those who think growing up LDS involves strict adherence to cheery optimism at all hours. Truthfully, I’m more of a slow-burn-once-I-have-coffee kind of guy. Yet, my mornings are less about rushing and more about grounding myself with a quiet ritual I’ve (reluctantly) accepted as necessary: sitting on my porch wrapped in a plaid thrifted blanket, sipping herbal tea, and staring at the horizon like a 19th-century transcendentalist hoping to stumble on something profound.
This quiet time isn’t just about basking in Utah’s golden early light (though, wow, the Wasatch Mountains know how to put on a show). It’s about recollection: What did I dream last night? (Typically something bizarre, like reenacting a scene from The Great British Bake Off, but everyone’s cakes are made of sandstone.) What am I carrying into this day? I find that when my first interactions of the morning aren’t with my phone—I know, who am I?—I’m far kinder to myself and others.
Pro tip: If you’re navigating tricky life transitions, these quiet moments are gold. Mornings provide clarity that 10:00 p.m. Netflix scrolls rarely allow.
The Weirdest Part of My Day: Lunchtime Field Notes
Around noon, I do something that feels as dated as ‘90s rom-com meet-cutes but is surprisingly therapeutic: I write relationship "field notes." Calm down—it’s not as creepy as it sounds.
Here’s the deal: I keep a small notebook (don’t come at me, digital savants) where I jot down an insight from that week’s conversations with friends, family, or the person I might be texting a bit too much. Sometimes it’s big, like realizing vulnerability tends to make second dates feel intimate without veering into oversharing territory. Other times, it’s smaller, like noticing that everyone in my life has a cheat code for stress, whether it’s baking bread, organizing their closet by color, or binge-watching Parks and Rec.
Why does this matter? Well, relationships are part observing and part doing. Writing things down has this magical way of making deeper truths stick. Plus, it’s humbling. Like, remember the last time you tried to recall why you ghosted someone on Bumble three years ago? Field notes aren’t going to fix your memory completely but they might give you a breadcrumb trail.
Fun twist: Try this as a couple. There’s surprising intimacy in sharing small takeaways from your week about each other or the world.
On Finding Joy in the Mundane
By 3:00 p.m., I’m in full-on drag-myself-through mundane tasks mode: emails, paperwork, and walking Rudy, my borderline-neurotic Australian Shepherd. Rudy, in particular, is a creature of habit. Every walk is the same route: up the hill past the neighbor’s garden I secretly envy, down to the park, and back home like clockwork. But on some deeply random—and frankly mood-lifting—days, Rudy decides he’s over the monotony, usually by lunging toward a wayward tumbleweed like he is auditioning for a role in Mad Max: Fury Road.
What strikes me during these surprise “tumbleweed moments” is the reminder to delight in things most adults have long dismissed while scrolling TikTok. There’s joy in letting small, unplanned moments make your day brighter. In relationships, the lesson here is gold: In the grind of schedules and predictability, surprising each other with unexpected fun (or random observations about tumbleweeds) can be an underrated love language.
It’s also a reminder that staying curious keeps things fresh—whether you’re in your tenth year of a partnership or, like me, exploring possibilities one conversation at a time.
Dinner and Spiritual Reset
Dinner is sacred in my world, and not just because I love any excuse to overuse my cast-iron skillet. Whether I’m hosting friends or flying solo with leftover pasta, dinnertime is intentional. Growing up in Utah, meal blessings were central, and while I no longer practice in those traditional ways, there’s still something grounding about pausing to acknowledge gratitude.
Lately, I’ve swapped the spoken prayer with a few quiet moments to reflect: Who showed me kindness today? What small thing shifted my mood? Did I make space for someone else’s feelings? These aren’t groundbreaking questions, but they anchor me in a way that goes beyond quinoa salads or burnt garlic bread experiments.
In dating, I’ve found this kind of introspection particularly useful. The deeper I go into appreciating the small acts of care in my day, the more naturally it reminds me to reciprocate them, which, unsurprisingly, often lends itself to building better connections.
Nightcap of Nostalgia
Before bed, I have this curious little ritual that I hesitate to share lest it out me as that guy. But here it is: I sometimes listen to choral hymns on low volume. Specifically, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. For someone who’s lived through the highs and wrestled with the complications of religious identity, these moments aren’t about faith in the dogmatic sense. They’re about tapping into something familiar and expansive, like holding hands with a younger version of myself who wasn’t yet worried about breakups or career pathways.
I think we all need a portal like this—one that keeps us connected to a richer sense of who we are and where we’ve been. Mine just happens to come with soaring harmonies and a little Silent Night.
Here’s my takeaway for you: Whether it’s music, a childhood ritual, or that inexplicable movie you rewatch every few months (I see you, When Harry Met Sally fans), nurture your nostalgia. Our past selves often hold tools we misplaced somewhere along the way.
Final Thoughts: From Predictable to Profound
A day in my life might not seem revolutionary—there are no dramatic meet-cutes or going-viral milestones. But therein lies its charm. Life, much like relationships, is crafted in the “in-betweens”: the quiet moments on porches, the long walks with clingy dogs, and the side-eyed glances at burnt garlic bread.
If you’re searching for meaning, don’t overlook the mundane. If you’re building relationships, treat the tiniest moments of connection with reverence. And if you happen to lunge for a metaphorical tumbleweed along the way—well, even better.
After all, isn’t that what makes this whole chaotic, beautiful thing we call life worth showing up for?
