The World is Heavy. So I Made a List

Micro-luxuries and sacred moments

Lately, everything feels too big.
The world is loud and sharp. The news, the suffering, the grief, the mess of it all. It’s easy to feel like there’s nothing we can do to shift the tide.

And in the face of all that, I’ve found myself craving the tiniest things.
Not the grand gestures. Not the “treat yourself” kind of luxuries.

I’m talking about quiet comforts.
The small, sacred pauses.
The moments I can actually control.
The ones that make me feel a little more human.

Like the way Lucy, my cat, tucks her little face into the side of my neck when I scoop her up each day. Just for a minute. A small, quiet comfort.

Or the way I stop midday to use the good hand cream. The kind that smells like something someone once prayed over.

Or how I light incense as the sun begins to fall behind the buildings outside my office window. That’s the transition. The line between "doing" and "being done."

Or sitting in the last bits of spring sunshine with the perfect cup of tea—or the good whisky—and letting myself taste every nuance as it dances across my tongue.

Sometimes, it’s just five minutes of silence. Eyes closed. No screen. No input. Just... stopping.

Lately, the words “read fiction” have been sitting on my to-do list like a quiet hope. It’s one of my most precious sacred stops. A portal into stillness. Imagination. Something that’s just for me.

And yet… many evenings I’m too tired.
Too full of the day.
Too fried from conversations and context-switching and all the holding.

So I scroll. With some noise turned on in the background.
Not because I don’t want to read, but because my brain is tapped out.

But what I really want is to offer myself space.
To give myself permission to slip into the soft world of a story.
To let my mind rest somewhere that isn’t trying to fix anything.

So today, instead of beating myself up for it, I made a list.
On the good paper. With my favorite pen.
Which, let’s be honest, is its own little luxury.

A list of quiet comforts I can offer myself.

The cuddle. The hand cream. The candle. The sunshine. The silence.
Not one of them will end war, or injustice, or systemic failure.
But they remind me that I’m still here.
And that I still get to care for myself in the midst of it all.

So how about you?

What are the quiet comforts that make your nervous system sigh?
What are the tiny offerings that help you stay grounded in a world that feels anything but?

Tell me one. Or make a list.
We’re allowed to rest. Even now. Especially now.

xx,
Leah