a list of things that have significantly improved my life
opulence of the mundane
hello.
there are objects in my life that anchor the hours of my day. they’re small, unassuming things that ask for nothing, but quietly reframe the shape how my day progresses. they are not the kind of purchases that spark envy or find their way onto a vision board. instead, they live in the periphery. steady, functional and constant, making the air around me feel more bearable and more my own.
some are indulgences disguised as necessities, others necessities softened into small luxuries. a few are purely functional, a few purely for comfort. but all of them share the same truth: if they vanished tomorrow, their absence would noticed.
so here they are. a few of the things i’ve bought, collected, or stumbled into, each carrying more weight in my days than their price tags ever could. they are not extraordinary in the way we usually mean the word, but each one has altered some rhythm of my life, solved a problem i didn’t have the language for, or simply made the living of an ordinary morning feel finer.
hatch alarm
this is not an alarm clock. it is a hostage negotiator between my body and the morning. it doesn’t jolt me into the day, it convinces me, both slowly and patiently, with the light of a fake sunrise and forest sounds that feel like they’ve been softened at the edges. it lets me believe i woke up by choice.
candle warmer
fire without the danger. the scent of vanilla, cedar, or whatever mood i’ve purchased in wax form, released slowly into the air until my apartment feels like it’s been breathing all day. there’s something decadent about a candle that’s always warm and ready to give.
record player
the only machine in my home that refuses to rush. it demands ceremony. the lifting of the needle, the flipping of the record, the surrender to an entire album. music that cannot be skipped through feels different in the body.
nespresso machine
this is my truce with mornings. i do not promise to be cheerful, but i do promise to make a perfect cup of coffee. it’s a tiny luxury, a button-press ritual that says: you are alive, and that’s enough for now.
rode microphone
it sits on my desk in its little case like a secret weapon. it’s the kind of microphone that makes you want to speak carefully, like your words are worth keeping.
sonicare electric toothbrush
two minutes of small, vibrating certainty. it buzzes like it’s got a plan for my teeth’s future that i’ll never fully understand, but i trust it anyway. and my mom is a dentist, so i trust her, too.
laptop lap desk
this one is for my spine, for my laptop’s fan, for my afternoons when i work from the couch and need to pretend i’m not. it’s a stage for my keyboard and a shield for my thighs, and i’d miss it in about three hours if it were gone.
amazon kindle paperwhite
this is the closest i’ve come to carrying a library in my pocket. it asks nothing flashy of you: no notifications, no tabs, no noise, just the steady invitation of a page. its waterproof shell means it can live beside the bath, the pool, even a sudden rainstorm. and its screen is matte and glare free. i know people have a lot of thoughts about kindles so let me share mine. the kindle doesn’t replace books, it extends them. it makes reading feel possible anywhere: in line at the pharmacy, on a plane, under a blanket when the lamp is too bright. and every time i pick it up, i’m reminded that attention can be portable. i support kindles. i support audiobooks. i support dnf’ing books.
protein in the morning
it’s not glamorous, but it’s the reason my brain works past 10am. it turns my mornings from slow moving into steady. the kind of habit you don’t brag about, but build a life on.
jade tension melting massager
a small sculptural ritual disguised as a tool. cool jade pressed against the contours of your face until it slowly warms, asking you to notice the difference between tension and release. as a frequent migraine victim, this is something that alleviates (some) of the pain.
goshi shower towel
the shower equivalent of a wake up call. exfoliating but not cruel, it leaves my skin with a tingle that feels like all the dead weight of the week has been rinsed down the drain.
marshall headphones
a little heavy, in the way a good coat is heavy. they turn music into a place you can live inside for hours. bass that thumps without bullying, sound that’s warm without being fuzzy.
cellphone stand
it does nothing fancy. it just holds my phone at the right angle so i can follow a recipe without baptizing the screen in oil, or watch a video without craning my neck. utility.
dyson vacuum
the joy i feel from this machine is probably exposing my age. it is the closest i will ever come to piloting a very polite jet engine across my floor. it sucks up the week’s evidence, wiping the slate clean, and makes my home feel monica clean.
dental sterilizing pod
it sits on the counter like a tiny spaceship for my toothbrush head and retainer. it hums its quiet blue light, sterilizing away what i do not want to think about.
glass tupperware
it keeps my food visible and uncomplaining. it stacks neatly, seals tightly, and looks better in the fridge than plastic ever could. leftovers feel less like an afterthought. chic.
nyåkers swedish ginger thins
a cookie so thin it feels almost impossible. i first discovered these at the swedish church in nyc. (go during christmas time you will not regret it they have the best christmas market) these cookies snap, never crumble, releasing a warmth of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon that tastes like december no matter the month. eat them with tea, with coffee, with a slice of sharp cheese if you want to feel properly scandinavian. when the cookies are gone, the tin itself lingers and i reuse it to keep love notes, trinkets or just the memory of a good afternoon.
zoshirosju rice cooker
fluffy, perfect rice every time, without drama. it does one thing beautifully and makes it feel like a gift.
edmond fallot mustard
i first discovered this mustard at zabars on the upper west side and it changed my life and every meal i’ve eaten since. it’s sharp enough to wake you up, silky enough to feel intentional. it turns a tired sandwich into something french and decadent. it makes you want to slow down, slice bread properly, maybe even open a bottle of wine at lunch. there’s a reason people bring jars of this home from paris like souvenirs and it’s proof that the smallest upgrades can rewrite an entire meal.
(i need to make a part two to this list with things that are a little more niche)
the art of more with less
what i’ve learned, through years of trying to keep up with other people’s versions of productivity and success, is that you are in charge of choosing to make your days small on purpose. the point isn’t austerity. it’s richness without excess, saturation without the noise. i want to provide another list for you. things that cost little or nothing, but have tilted my entire life toward beauty.
there are things you can buy that make life softer, easier, more beautiful. but there are also things you can’t find in a store. things that cost nothing but attention. small shifts that reframe the whole day. i’ve been collecting these the way some people collect trinkets, not because i need them, but because they remind me that the good life isn’t always a matter of acquisition.
the rest of this essay is for paid subscribers. i’m sharing the full list of objects and rituals that have quietly rearranged my days. not because they’re rare or expensive, but because they’ve proven themselves in the smallest, most persistent ways. all of them have become anchors, shaping the hours of my day without asking for permission.
if you’ve been wanting to curate your own life on the level of mornings and evenings, of textures and scents, of the details that make a day feel more like your own, i hope this list helps in some way.
thank you for reading, for supporting my work, and for protecting a space where slow, deliberate attention is still valued.
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