Every one of my mornings starts the same — a coffee run with the puppies in the backseat. Every morning, I order the same drink, I see the same crew and we exchange the same pleasantries.

The routineness of this would imply a certain stability of enjoyment. A dependable source of dopamine. 

Some mornings, my iced americano tastes like chocolate cake. Other mornings, it tastes like a bitter waste of $3.83.

The weight of academics, young adulthood and the ever-increasing pressure of the world can steal the joy from you — and you don’t even know it. 

Beyond the science of coffee crafting (sometimes my coffee is just bitter), my simple morning joy can be squashed by the worries of last night. The worries of now. The worries of tonight… Hell, even the worries of another. 

It’s the feeling of sitting with friends and letting your mind wander. It’s changing a song in the car because it speaks to you a little too poignantly. It’s your lunch tasting bland. It’s losing interest.

Being present is incredibly hard, especially when you’re a level ten worrier. 

My small routines keep me present. They remind me I’m alive, and this all amounts to something. But what does one do when it all stops feeling fun?

Lots of things in life are miserable, but a few are joyful. Find them.

It’s difficult to want to prioritize the things that give us joy, especially when they’re small — like a cup of coffee every morning or eating a cookie for breakfast.

These things seem trivial, almost childish. What does a 20-year-old like me get from carving time out of my day to simply drive around with my dogs?

It keeps me accountable. At this point, my dogs wake me up to go. Muffled barks and rumblings, paws skipping to the front door. I’m awake now.

My favorite barista, Shiloh, makes my day with her lauding over my pug. She writes kind messages on my cup. She inspires me with her wicked eyeliner and her sunny demeanor. 

As I drive, I go through my to-do list for the day — but not too intensely. Loose thoughts. 

I don’t get out of my car until the cup is empty. Then, the day starts. 

When the coffee tastes especially bitter, my subconscious is feeling rotten. I remind myself to be patient with myself and others.

When it tastes like cake, I take risks. I smile at strangers, and I tackle the hardest things on my brain — I feel capable those days.

Most days, it just tastes like coffee. Nothing to write home about. Take it slow — do your thing. It’s just another Tuesday.

Find your small joyful thing and plug it into your day. Then, go from there.

For me, it’s visiting different coffee shops in the area. It’s taking a different road home. It’s trying a new drink. 

It’s picking up an extra coffee when you’ve got plans to see a friend later. It’s throwing a cool $5 bill into the tip jar. It’s telling the barista I like her hair. 

The little things fill us with joy — make time for them, you won’t regret it.