The Almost-Routine Life of a Not-So-Routine Girl
They Say 5 A.M. Is When You Need to Wake Up to Be Productive…
I want to be the kind of woman who thrives with color-coded planners, really, I do. Every year I buy one, imagining pastel tabs, perfect handwriting, and my life finally falling into place like a neatly organized Pinterest board. And every year, I spend three days overthinking what to color-code, panic about ruining the aesthetic… and then abandon it entirely.
The truth is, I don’t do well with routines — I never really have. They make me feel boxed in, like I’ve signed a contract with someone far more organized than me. What I have instead are rituals: small, shifting anchors in my otherwise slightly chaotic days. They’re not about order; they’re about comfort, and I think that’s why they actually stick.
And honestly, I’ve never understood those influencers who wake up at 5 a.m., chug a green smoothie, run a half-marathon, and somehow have their inbox at zero before I’ve even opened my eyes. If that works for them, great. I, however, am a slow burner. I get things done steadily, not at light speed. If anything, I thrive at night when everyone else is asleep. Much like… well, right now, writing this post at midnight in my cozy little one-bedroom apartment, feeling more inspired and full of energy than I ever could at sunrise.
I can wake up early if I absolutely have to, sure. But I don’t think it should be the gold standard of being “productive.” Doing things later, at your own pace, still counts. Productivity doesn’t need a 5 a.m. time stamp to be valid; sometimes it just needs a spark (and maybe good lighting).
One of my favorite rituals is having a comfort drink for my morning train ride through Zürich. Usually a coffee, sometimes a Red Bull if I’m feeling particularly unhinged, or a fancy “focus” water that tricks me into thinking I have my life together. I sip it while reading a book, gliding through the city as if I’m on my way to do something wildly important (spoiler: probably just answering emails and going to work… so yeah, kinda important).
At home, my desk-slash-dining table sits right by a big window, and it’s become my little sanctuary. Light pours in, the soft kind that makes even gray days feel gentle. I sit there with my coffee, work, or simply watch the world go by on the street below. My neighbors probably think I’m mysterious. (Realistically, I’m just a gremlin in sweatpants.)
What my mornings look like depends entirely on which version of me wakes up.
Good day me: wakes up with low pain, makes a beautiful coffee, and radiates suspiciously productive energy.
Bad day me: crawls out from under a heated blanket like an emotionally exhausted burrito, and needs an hour to get out of bed. Heated blanket = self-compassion, giving myself time. (Also gives me static hair, but worth it.)
And that’s the thing about rituals, they flex with you. Routines demand you keep up. Rituals meet you where you are.
I check my emails in the morning and again before bed, not because it’s productive, but because it makes me feel tethered to the world. Like I’ve waved back at life at least twice that day.
Recently, I’ve been walking or running most days, and it’s helped me feel more grounded, like my body and brain are on speaking terms again. But if my body protests, I rest. Skipping one walk doesn’t erase progress; it just means I chose not to cry into my sports bra today.
And when life gets heavy, I retreat to my ultimate comfort ritual: Animal Crossing. There, my biggest problem is deciding between tulips or hyacinths, and everyone adores me simply for existing. (Honestly? Same.)
Then there are the edible love affairs currently fueling my existence: egg on toast with rich coffee in the morning, champagne pralines with a caramel macchiato from Starbucks when I need a boost, and occasionally a glass of deep red wine when I want to feel like a tortured romantic poet, minus the poetry, plus fuzzy socks.
No, I don’t have a structured daily routine. I have small rituals, flexible, comforting, a little chaotic, that shift with me. And maybe that doesn’t make me inconsistent. Maybe it makes me… beautifully human.
They don’t fix everything. But they make life softer. And on the days that feel impossible, softness (and caffeine… and possibly a digital island full of animals who love me unconditionally) is enough.