Since that time, I have slowly established small, ritual pleasures. Perhaps this is part of getting a little older. I am about to turn 30 and find it a bit daunting. I still feel like a child in the world: still inquisitive, but not with the same blithe freedom and whimsy that I once had. I have had a taste of reality, and I’ve discovered it’s salty, not sweet. And so I have developed a taste for subtler things. No longer grabbing for the ruby red licorice, I carefully choose a soft havarti cheese or a nice homemade soup. Not that those sweets no longer have their own appeal. My taste has merely transformed slightly. They bring back memories of a girl but not a woman. And I now enjoy choosing to feel like a woman instead of being a girl. I will always like patent leather shoes, but I don't crave them in the same way I did as a girl. My desires are more subtle, and more for myself than they were in the past—less calculated with others’ opinions of me in mind. I have a few simple pleasures that give me great delight, most of which require less than five dollars in my pocket. I think of these as rituals, though I use the term loosely. While I enjoy them often, they are not fixed to a certain time or place but, rather, are regular occurrences which I would like to make even more regular than they currently are..

Mornings are a good example of the way simple pleasures and rituals enrich my life. From the moment I wake up, I surround myself with small comforts that add to my day, such as reveling in the texture of carefully-chosen sheets or warmed towels. I enjoy the weekly task of pondering which I would prefer: the cuddly flannel, brightly-patterned, or crisp white set. Likewise, a fluffy warm towel can make the day seem brighter instantly. I try to remember to toss one in the dryer for my husband, timing it to be ready for him when he exits the shower. It’s these small elements that speak of care: his famous “scrambled eggs,” served with a cup of tea brewed with careful attention to the exact timing, the ratio of tea to milk, the aroma. And to wrap it all up before we step out the door—a morning kiss. Soft, sweet and simple—sometimes accompanied by advice, other times by a warm smile. It’s the perfect way to start a day, no matter how daunting or dreaded it may be.

I believe these are more than merely passing pleasures. They provide something more profound. Through repetition, these humble acts are elevated to something higher. My morning routine is a litany of comfort, giving me courage for what lies ahead, helping me adjust my equilibrium. Rituals, repeated over time, become warm memories that nourish the soul. They ground us when we are unsettled. They tuck us into bed after a difficult day. They satiate us.

Choosing our rituals carefully is important. Our routines should represent what we value most. Our lives are the sum of our days. The act of creating daily rituals can be powerful when understood as the act of making deliberate decisions that will mold us into who we want to be. Do we choose to lead a passive life or do we actively embrace it, claiming the moments as our own?

It takes time to build ritual, to build a life, and it takes time to learn what routines are yours and which do not belong to you. Grandma’s cookies will always taste good but you may never be able to replicate her exact dash of cinnamon or a pinch of salt. It doesn’t make them any less delightful, they are just your own. At one time I felt that rituals were to be abhorred as mundane, predictable and bland. Today, I take time to enjoy Grandma’s cookies along with my special mug of Earl Grey tea.

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