The Things I Can’t Live Without
Introduction: The Essentials That Keep Me Sane
Some people can’t live without avocado toast or obscure French skincare products. Others swear by their meticulously curated wardrobe or a favorite podcast that no one else seems to know. Me? My list is less about flexing and more about embracing the chaotic, wonderful rhythm of modern life. At its core, these essentials remind me of who I am—Brooklyn kid, professional overthinker, romantic escapist—all while helping me navigate everything from existential crises to awkward first dates.
Here’s a glimpse into the quirks and comforts that keep me grounded (and slightly less neurotic).
1. My Grandfather’s Old Leather Notebook
Yes, it’s clichéd in a tortured-writer way, but hear me out. This isn’t just any notebook—it’s my grandfather’s beat-up leather-bound journal from his long-haul trips as a freight captain for a shipping company in the 1960s.
This thing has sailed every ocean and, by some miracle, still smells faintly of old cedar and saltwater. The pages are filled with his musings—some poetic sketches of sunsets on the Arabian Sea, some hilariously practical notes about how to avoid getting ripped off in port towns. I use it now to jot down everything: fleeting story ideas, an on-brand overanalysis of someone’s text message, or just the wine pairings I want to try next. Carrying it around feels like having an entire library of wisdom and wanderlust in my back pocket.
(Related dating lesson: My grandfather’s advice to “trust people, but count the cash anyway” works remarkably well for reading early relationship signs too.)
2. Berlin’s 2 A.M. Playlists
Back when I was in my mid-twenties, slightly sleep-deprived, and figuring out publishing in the chaos of Berlin, I stumbled into its underground music scene. Specifically, I discovered what I now call “2 a.m. playlists”—a mix of deep house tracks, dreamy ambient beats, and some eclectic bangers that you only hear in chicly grimy clubs with a 3-euro entry fee.
Now, whenever the chaos of life kicks up—missed deadlines, dating mishaps, or simply a rainy Monday in Brooklyn—I fire up these playlists. They’re nostalgic, grounding, and oddly motivating. It’s like instant energy, minus the caffeine crash, and a low-key conversation starter when someone hears it wafting from my Bluetooth speaker.
Tip to those planning a third date: Dim the lights, put on some German electronic, and let the serotonin do its thing.
3. The Perfect Flat-Woven Blanket
I don’t need a brand-name throw. I don’t even need it to color-coordinate with my furniture. (Spoiler: nothing in my apartment matches, but I like to think of it as “purposefully eclectic.”) But I cannot live without the kind of flat-woven blanket that’s light enough to drape over your shoulders on summer evenings but warm enough to cocoon in during winter Netflix marathons.
My current MVP is a Turkish blanket I bought impulsively at a street market after semi-flirting with the vendor about a magical rug scene in Aladdin. Somewhere between bargaining and bantering, I realized this was the closest I’d come to spontaneity that month, so I splurged. Now it’s my go-to for everything: power naps, anxiety crises, or lounging on my fire escape when the neighborhood conductor (read: the guy who blares Marvin Gaye from his third-floor window) does his thing.
For those wondering: yes, it’s also been battle-tested as the ultimate picnic staple for getaways in Prospect Park.
4. Haruki Murakami Novels (Especially the Weird Ones)
Every now and then, I break my self-imposed rule about not judging people based on their bookshelves. You know what I mean—the whole “Oh, so you OWN Infinite Jest? Honestly, I’m afraid of you” conversation. But when it comes to Murakami, there’s no judgment—just admiration. Something about the surreal yet deeply human way he writes about connection, longing, and jazz bars hits me every time.
I lean into the weird ones like Kafka on the Shore or Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. They don’t just inspire my writing—they often inspire my conversations on dates. (Pro tip: There’s never an awkward silence if you throw in something like, “If your shadow came to life, what would it say?” Just don’t use this on someone who’s really into logical debates.)
5. Coffee in a Mug That’s Just Slightly Too Big
I like my coffee strong enough to wrestle with, but the real MVP here is the oversized mug I drink it from. Too big to be considered elegant but too endearing to replace, it’s downright utilitarian in its ability to accommodate “more caffeine than advisable.” Bonus: The design? Some abstract cat-meets-Mondrian homage I bought on impulse at a local ceramics pop-up.
A good coffee mug is like a great relationship: sturdy, holds warmth, and—if it’s really great—makes you smile first thing in the morning. Plus, mine’s been the silent witness to too many first-date recaps over solo breakfasts, cementing its place on this list.
6. Exact Change for the Brooklyn Heights Deli
This isn’t metaphorical—this is literally $5.50 in exact change, preferably in singles and quarters. The reason is simple: my local deli makes a hot bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich that borders on divinity, but only if you come prepared.
The guy behind the counter, Nick, is stoic as they come—think less “small-town diner charm” and more “New York stoic with a heart of gold if you stick long enough.” He’s been feeding me breakfast on foggy Brooklyn mornings since I was a gangly 18-year-old high school nerd. You don’t mess with Nick by tapping a credit card or holding up the line. You come prepared.
I like to think my exact-change habit is good training for relationships: always expect the “unexpected requirements.” Whether it’s compromising on a movie or figuring out who grabs the check, preparation saves you a headache.
7. Long Walks With No Destination
I know it’s basic, but nothing clears my mind quite like wandering around Brooklyn, no podcast or playlist in my ears, just the soundtrack of the city to guide me. Some days I’ll venture into Carroll Gardens for the Italian bakeries; other days, I’ll end up on the piers, watching the skyline shift in subtle ways you don’t notice until you live somewhere long enough to call it home.
I could act like this habit is super Zen of me, but the truth? It’s probably 60% exercise, 40% stress management from years of overthinking. (Okay, maybe 30/70 on bad days.) My point is: walking has led me to some of my favorite spots, to unexpected adventures, and, once, to the kind of “accidental bump-into” that turned into six magical dates.
Lesson here? Sometimes, you’ve got to follow the rhythm of your feet instead of obsessing over the next turn.
Conclusion: Find What (Actually) Grounds You
You can tell a lot about a person by the things they can’t live without, not because of the thing itself, but because of the stories tied to it. For me, these items—my grandfather’s notebook, Berlin’s music scene, cozy blankets, all of it—aren’t just “things.” They’re touchstones to memories, philosophies, and yes, maybe a little bit of controlled chaos.
The real takeaway? Gather your essentials thoughtfully, align them with your life, and let them do the heavy lifting. Whether you’re navigating love, heartbreak, or just the day-to-day hilarity of existence, the things you can’t live without are a reminder of who you are—and that’s something worth holding onto.
