Morning Musings: The Ritual of “Slow Time”
Most mornings, the alarm goes off at 7:30 a.m., though “off” is debatable because I let it snooze more frequently than I care to admit. Eventually, I tumble out of bed like I’m emerging from a long, dramatic winter in a CBC drama—the sort of bleary-eyed beginning you can only appreciate when you live in a city where seasons demand character.

The hustle of Toronto life is constant, but my mornings? They’re sacred. Like hockey and apologizing, it’s a ritual I take seriously. I start with coffee made in my trusty AeroPress, which I’ll argue is the most underrated way to brew a cup. French press lovers might clutch their pearls at this, while the instant coffee folks tune me out entirely—but trust me, there’s something Zen about the two-minute “press and wait” process. It gives me time to think—or overthink, depending on the day.

I pair that coffee with a slice of sourdough or a bagel, usually from a local bakery. Kensington Market has its gems, and I’ve found one where the bagels taste like a gateway to understanding life’s mysteries. Breakfast by my living room window—view of the urban hustle below—grounds my day. The world gets loud fast, but this is what I call my “slow time.” Before texts get replied to, deadlines get tackled, or existential crises creep in, I stay here.

Working, Walking, and World-Building
Being a writer means no two workdays ever look the same. By 10 a.m., I’m either frantically meeting deadlines or staring at a Word document that mocks me with its blankness. If you’ve never wrestled with a sentence for 20 minutes because it “doesn’t feel right,” congratulations, you’ve escaped my brand of creative torment.

When I hit a wall—and walls are frequent—I lace up my sneakers and head outside. Urban exploration fuels so much of my creativity. Toronto’s East End, with its tree-lined streets, indie coffee shops, and street art tucked in alleyways, feels like an open-air museum. Recently, I’ve found myself side-eyeing gentrification creeping into my old stomping grounds—a topic I write about often—but even with change, this city feels like home.

It’s during these long walks that unexpected thoughts pop up. Like why dating sometimes feels like a Toronto weather forecast: sunny optimism one second, thunderstorm warnings the next. It might sound cheesy, but I use these midday strolls to brainstorm not just work ideas but life solutions. Walking sometimes offers clarity that sitting at a desk never could. Plus, no one ever had a creative epiphany 30 scrolls deep into Instagram, right?

Afternoons: Productivity, Procrastination, and Pretend Chef Mode
Post-walk, it’s back to work. Writing and editing fill most afternoons, with Spotify playlists ranging from indie pop to Tragically Hip ballads soundtracking my process. I’d tell you I’ve cracked the code for staying productive all day, but let’s be real—I’ve also cracked the code for spiraling down YouTube rabbit holes about why millennials are obsessed with houseplants. Productivity is a mixed bag.

Mid-afternoon is when I start thinking about dinner in almost-romantic detail. Cooking feels like therapy, but it wasn’t always this way. Back in university, my culinary expertise started and ended with buttered toast. Only later did I start experimenting, flirting with recipes like you might with someone cute at a party—timid at first, then increasingly bold. I’m no chef, but my roasted cauliflower tacos and garlic-lime salmon have scored rave reviews. (For the record, the salmon recipe came from my mom—she says sharing good food is its own love language.)

The Dating Curveball: Reflections Over Dinner
Dinner doubles as reflection time. This is where I’ve often caught myself replaying conversations I didn’t expect to linger. Like the one my friend Sarah and I had about "the ritual of the follow-up text"—when to send it, if it’s too soon, or if you’re overanalyzing and should just toss your phone into Lake Ontario. Dating today feels like its own pop quiz where the syllabus keeps changing.

These thoughts spill over into whatever I’m writing next. It’s funny how the small things—texts, fleeting moments, or even what somebody orders on a first date (pro-tip: judgment-free zone)—can reveal entire universes about someone’s character. And let’s face it, we love a good outside-of-the-box reveal in relationships. Sometimes, they’re magical. Other times, they remind me of that one time I ordered pineapple pizza during a night out and triggered a debate that almost ended a friendship.

Evening Escapades: Routines Meet Unpredictability
By 7 p.m., my day switches gears. Evenings can mean meeting friends in local haunts, from cozy pubs to nearly-too-trendy patios overlooking the skyline. Toronto nights are special—electric, buzzing, and just chaotic enough to surprise you. If plans fall through, though, it’s Netflix and chill…solo style.

I’ve been deep-diving into character-driven shows lately. “Fleabag” ruined me (in the best way), and don’t even get me started on “Reservation Dogs.” They bring out the writer in me, though I’ve always said these downtime activities are half-entertainment, half-research. After all, how often do we borrow snippets of dialogue or awkwardly sweet interactions from real life, moments that worm their way into creative projects?

Flirting with Dreams (and Deadlines)
By 11 p.m., my routine winds down with a nightcap: chamomile tea if I’m being responsible, a bourbon on the nights I forget I have to adult the next morning. Before bed, I scribble thoughts or sketch out article ideas, often tying them back to my ever-growing interest in authenticity and relationships. There’s something to be said for the way even the most minor connection—like that stranger who returned your accidentally dropped scarf—can become an anchor for bigger stories about human connection.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, but eventually, it does. My city quiets down, and so does my brain. Mornings will always bring their rush, afternoons their surprises, and evenings their introspection. Through it all, life moves. Like good relationships, it’s an evolving spectrum: part comfort-zone routine, part unexpected chaos.