The things that make me happy

When the barista uses a stencil to top my hot drink with cinnamon shapes. Waking up to cute text messages. Eavesdropping on the two people at the table next to me in Costa. One’s having a lesson in Portuguese.

My cinnamon porridge with peanut butter every morning. Making plans. Saying no.

Legs up the wall. Dancing as I get dressed. When we wake up at the same time, morning breath and all.

Hearing the five-year-old girl I look after break into a rendition of Shutdown. My influence here is apparent.

Driving. Music loud. Being stopped by a pedestrian who wants to ask about the song. She loves it.

Rounding the corner to be greeted by the ocean. That weightless feeling. I crave it.

Nails painted over gossip and giggles. Good deeds. Green smoothies.

Acknowledging everything my body does for me. The 5am running, the heavy lifting, the dancing where I pretend I’m a pro but the mirror says otherwise. The nourishing me. The keeping me alive. Looking in the mirror with wonder, not hate.

The spoken word. The inflections and emphases that make me gasp. The written word in poetic, convoluted, beautifully simplistic sentences. Brand new (to me) words. Like ‘belgard’ and ‘limerence.’

Phone calls with grandad. I need to hear his voice. Video calls with my sister. Her face makes me smile.

Being immersed in a book, a song, a place, a person. Thinking deeply. Even too much.

When the plane takes off. That moment before it lifts into the air and blasts you with a sudden burst of speed down the runway.

Saying something in a different language and being understood. Laughing along at my touristy self. Ordering food aloud, in a way that’s not just pointing at the menu.

That time I lay on the living room floor, for just five minutes, and closed my eyes.

Activism. Passion. Standing for something to save falling for anything.

My car when it’s had a wash, looking all fancy. The immediate aftermath of having shaved legs. Wearing dresses that remind me my legs feel like silk. Cocoa butter. Coconut oil.

My morning routine. I’m a creature of habit.

Reading with a highlighter pen in my hand. People-watching on the tube. Listening to music on the bus. Finding the song that perfectly fits my mood.

Alone time. People time. Writing this post.