There’s a lot to be said for the grand gestures of joy—vacations, milestones, champagne on a Tuesday. But the thing that reliably lights up my life, no matter the weather, the inbox, or the lunar phase?
Making my morning latte.
I’m not talking about slapping together some sad, scalded brew and pouring it into a chipped mug while dodging emails and existential dread. No. This is a ceremony. A practice. A sacred moment of frothy, caffeinated divinity.
The milk gets frothed like it’s auditioning for a cloud modeling agency. The espresso shot is pulled like a string of rich, molten gold. And the cup? Always my favorite one—the heavy ceramic one with just the right lip. I curl my fingers around it like a spell, breathe in that first warm whiff, and sip. Eyes closed. Silence. Bliss.
That first sip brings me back to myself. It reminds me that life doesn’t always need fireworks. Sometimes, it just needs foam.
In a world full of noise and chaos, this tiny ritual is my anchor. My reset. My daily whisper of “you’ve got this.”
So no, it’s not a grand event. It’s not an Instagram-worthy milestone. But it is a moment that makes my soul sigh with joy. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
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