Mornings: The Art of Easing In
I am not a morning person. If you’re imagining me springing out of bed with sunbeams and soft flute music, think again. My mornings begin with the stubborn chirp of my alarm clock and a negotiation that rivals a hostage situation. Five more minutes? Ten and I’ll do cardio tomorrow?
Once I finally emerge from my cocoon of blankets, the first order of business is coffee. Vancouverites and their love for coffee—it’s practically a personality trait. I grind the beans myself, a ritual I’ve honed since I was tall enough to see over my parents’ café counter. There’s something oddly meditative about the repetitive crunch of the beans and the earthy aroma that follows.
While the water boils, I scroll through Instagram to “wake up my brain” (translation: watch dog videos). This is followed by journaling—yes, the actual pen-to-paper kind. My journal is a mishmash of dreams I barely remember, to-do lists, and the occasional poetic description of how the rain sounded against my window last night. Romantic? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.
Midday: Productivity With a Side of Wanderlust
I won’t lie—I’m most creative between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., which is when I do my writing. Articles, prose, snippets of poems that may never see the light of day—they all come to life in this window. I set up my laptop at a corner table in one of Vancouver’s many overachieving cafés, where the oat milk lattes are just as overpriced as my rent. It’s part caffeine, part people-watching. There’s inspiration in the way someone adjusts their scarf on a windy day, or how an awkward first date unfolds in the background. (Yes, I’m eavesdropping. No, I will not apologize.)
But creativity isn’t a faucet you can turn on and off. Sometimes, I hit a wall, and that’s when I turn to my secret superpower: the midday walk. Kitsilano has no shortage of scenic routes, from beaches to tree-lined streets where the houses look straight out of a Wes Anderson movie. Walking clears my head, lets me untangle knots in storylines, or simply offers the joy of movement. Pro tip: a brisk walk also cures the post-lunch slump better than any sugary snack (not that I don’t indulge in those too).
Afternoon Ritual: The “Fifth Coffee” Dilemma
Around 3 p.m., I arrive at the daily crossroads: make another cup of coffee or risk parsing complex sentences with a half-functioning brain. Spoiler: coffee always wins.
This is also when logistical adulting kicks in—answering emails, scheduling interviews, editing drafts. It’s not the glamorous part of writing, but it’s necessary. On days when I feel overwhelmed, I break up my time with something ridiculously mundane, like organizing the spice rack or watering all the plants I’ve somehow kept alive (a miracle that deserves its own article). Small, satisfying tasks remind me that progress is progress, even if it’s incremental.
Evening: Food as Love Language
Growing up, dinner was non-negotiable family time, no matter how busy we were. My parents would close the café early so we could sit down together, often around a tangle of chopsticks and steaming bowls of whatever was fresh and comforting. Now that I live on my own, working in the kitchen feels like an ongoing conversation with my younger self.
One of my weirdest habits? I cook like I’m hosting, even when it’s just me. Candlelit tablescapes. Linen napkins. A playlist oscillating between Taylor Swift and The xx. It’s less an aesthetic flex than it is a reminder that I deserve to enjoy the moments in between the hustle. Bonus: these mini “dinner parties for one” help me experiment with recipes before subjecting them to actual friends. (Tofu miso soup, smash-hit. The lemon-dill pasta incident? Let’s never speak of it again.)
If the weather cooperates, I’ll move my feast to my balcony, where city lights dance against the coast. There’s a poetry in this duality—being alone but never lonely, surrounded by a city that hums just loudly enough to keep me company.
Nightcap and Nostalgia
Evenings are for winding down, and I’m unapologetically cliché about it. Candles? Check. A good book? Of course. This is when I dive into novels by Ruth Ozeki or reread dog-eared pages of Ru by Kim Thúy, savoring how beautifully words can bridge cultures and time.
But my evenings aren’t all sage smoke and serenity. Sometimes, they involve texting my friends about everything from our most recent crush catastrophes to whether avocado toast is worth its inflated price tag. (Conclusion: Yes, but only with sesame seeds.) Relationships may not define life, but they definitely enrich it—and sending a late-night “only you will get this” meme is a love language in itself.
Lessons From the Everyday
Some might call my routine simple. Mundane, even. But I like to think of life as a patchwork quilt made from small moments stitched together—the days you spend chasing big dreams and the ones where nothing monumental happens.
And that’s okay. Because some of the richest connections, whether with others or ourselves, are moments between the lines. Whether it’s relishing solitude after a chaotic workday or finding magic in the ordinary (like a stranger holding a door or rain hitting the pavement just right), these things ground and sustain me.
Am I saying my daily rituals will make your life instantly better? Not at all. Your rituals are yours, and that’s the beauty of it. But if you’ve been looking for permission to light a candle, take that unnecessary evening walk, or curate a playlist just for chopping onions—consider this your green light.
From my quiet corner of Kitsilano to wherever you’re reading this, let’s keep finding joy in the everyday.
