Not too long ago, I used to wake up to the sharp buzz of my 7AM alarm. My mornings were regimented, always anchored to a set routine. These days, I let the sun decide when my day begins. The moment the light filters through my windows and spills across the room, I rise. There’s something unexpectedly inspiring about beginning the day guided by nature instead of a clock.
On gray, rainy mornings, I find myself staying in bed longer. My fiancé doesn’t mind—it gives him extra time to enjoy his early hours in peace. I never imagined I’d be the kind of person who lingers in pajamas until nearly midday, but life has a way of reshaping habits. By the time I eventually trade pajamas for leggings, I’m greeted with a warm cup of coffee and a breakfast he’s prepared—sometimes his perfectly seasoned eggs, other times a cozy bowl of oatmeal. Those small gestures have become some of the brightest parts of my day.
Quarantine changed so much about how I move through life. At the start, I clung to structure, worried that without it I’d lose my sense of self. But over time, I’ve learned to loosen my grip. Comfort now lives alongside fashion in my daily choices, and I no longer see that as a contradiction. Life feels fragile, unpredictable, and this season has reminded me that it’s okay to slow down—to ease into the morning, to trade lipstick for bare skin, to embrace softness in both clothing and mindset.
What once felt like a disruption to “normal” has instead become a grounding ritual. Instead of holding myself to perfection every hour of the day, I allow space for imperfection, for rest, for gratitude. And with that shift, I’ve noticed how much lighter life feels. The small joys—extra sleep, makeup-free mornings, cozy fabrics—are the very things that have kept me positive through uncertainty.
Evenings carry their own ritual too. Around 5PM, I slip into a second shower, one that almost always runs warm. I let the steam swirl around me until my bathroom feels like a makeshift spa. Those few minutes of heat and quiet clear the clutter from my mind. Afterwards, I apply vitamin C serum, tame my brows, refill my water bottle, and reach for soft, easy clothes.
The other day someone asked me, “What happened to your signature red lipstick?” The truth is simple: masks. Lipstick doesn’t hold much space in my routine anymore. And as for my blow dryer? It’s been gathering dust for months.
This slower rhythm has taught me something unexpected—that there’s strength in gentleness. I may not return to every old habit when life picks up again. But I do hope to carry forward the lessons of gratitude, comfort, and stillness, long after the world fully reopens.
