Savouring simple daily pleasures
Today, I stepped out into air so cold it bit at my cheeks, just 2 degrees, but not a cloud in sight. The sky stretched endlessly above me—clear, crisp, an impossible shade of blue. The kind of sky that makes everything below it feel sharper, quieter, and somehow more alive. Birdsong filled the silence—sweet, loud, insistent reminders that life carries on, even in the stillness of winter. I hadn’t realized I was smiling until I felt my face ache a little from holding it too long, and I laughed out loud, alone but entirely content. I was beaming. Bubbling with joy. I could have burst with the overwhelming gratitude I felt in that moment.
It wasn’t a special day, really—not in the traditional sense. No milestone reached. No surprise celebration. Just a walk. A simple walk under a blue sky, breathing in cold, clean air, wrapped in layers to fight off the bite of a dipping afternoon temperature. But there was magic in the simplicity.
It struck me then, just how good my life is—not because of any one grand thing, but because of all the small ones. The string of ordinary blessings we so often overlook. Sure, not every day is as clear and golden as today. Some are heavy, grey, messy. But the good ones? Oh, they shine. They carry enough warmth to get us through the others.
Even the walk home, cheeks red and fingers beginning to tingle, held that same quiet joy. I plodded back through crunchy leaves and the hush of a sleepy afternoon, rugged up in my coat and scarf, heart still full.
Back home, it was time for the everyday tasks. Folding laundry warm from the dryer, the scent of clean cotton filling the room. Preparing dinner—steaks tonight, the pan hissing and the kitchen filling with that mouth-watering aroma. Then, cleaning up afterward, greasy plates stacked high, music humming softly in the background. Even the clatter of dishes in soapy water felt grounding. Calming. Peaceful.
There’s something quietly beautiful about finding joy in these rhythms—about lighting a scented candle to mask the lingering steak (delicious, but not something you want to smell at 7 a.m.), or stepping into a hot shower after a cold walk, relishing the feeling of warmth seeping back into your bones. About applying your favorite face cream, not as a chore, but as a small act of care. These aren’t luxuries, but they are, in a way. Everyday luxuries we often move past too quickly.
And the birds. Oh, the birds. Each day their presence becomes more noticeable. Maybe it’s the bare trees, or the winter hunger that draws them closer. Blackbirds and thrushes filling the air with melody. Tiny fantails dancing past, their wings so close I could feel their movement. Kererū slicing through the air with their unmistakable wingbeats, and playful tūī letting loose with their peculiar, beautiful calls. They are daily wonders, tucked into branches and hedges, asking only that we stop and notice.
When you begin to really see these things—the joy tucked inside the folding, the birdsong, the warm water, the scent of soap—you start to find more. And more. Until life becomes abundant with them. Tiny joys, everywhere. And suddenly, the mundane becomes the miraculous. The ordinary becomes the thing you look forward to.
In a world that feels, at times, a little too fast, a little too chaotic, perhaps the greatest act of rebellion is to find harmony in the everyday. To choose to notice, to appreciate, to give thanks. And to smile, even when it’s cold, and your cheeks are numb, and your hands are full of laundry.
Because this life—this beautiful, ordinary, magical life—is absolutely worth savoring.
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