Not life-changing. Not profound. Just the small things that somehow make everything feel a little more considered.
A hotel bed you didn’t have to make.
Sparkling water in a wine glass.
A restaurant where they remember you.
Fresh flowers from the grocery store that somehow look expensive once they’re in the right vase.
A lamp instead of the overhead light.
Cold sheets.
An unnecessarily good hand soap.
Finding a table outside when the weather is actually perfect.
When someone orders fries for the table without asking.
A book with a beautiful cover that you leave out on purpose.
Getting somewhere ten minutes early and having nowhere else you need to be.
A martini that arrives so cold the glass is frosted.
Heavy hotel robes.
A handwritten note.
A bowl of lemons on the counter.
Knowing exactly what you’re ordering before you even open the menu.
The first coffee of the day before anyone has asked you for anything.
A playlist someone clearly spent too much time making.
Tiny lamps in restaurants.
An old matchbook you’ve kept for absolutely no reason.
A really good pen.
When the waiter brings another round without making it a whole conversation.
Windows open when it’s finally cool enough.
Having one restaurant where you always sit in the same spot.
Clean hair and nowhere important to go.
A kitchen that smells like something cooking.
A stranger complimenting something oddly specific.
Olives and before dinner.
A hotel lobby that makes you want to sit there longer than necessary.
The first night in a new city.
Finding a steal at a vintage store when you weren’t looking for anything.
A bathroom with flattering lighting.
Calling someone instead of sending twelve texts.
A table that’s slightly too crowded with plates, glasses, candles and people.
The smell of sunscreen when you’re not at home.
A taxi ride at night with the windows cracked.
When someone has good music playing before you even walk through the door.
Really cold grapes.
A heavy coffee-table book you actually open.
Having a favorite bartender.
Putting your phone away long enough to forget where you left it.
The one friend who always says yes to dinner.
A place that still uses real keys.
A perfectly timed afternoon nap.
The sound of someone making coffee in another room.
When dinner accidentally turns into drinks somewhere else.
A balcony, even a tiny one.
Good bread before the meal.
Leaving somewhere while you’re still having fun.
Buying yourself something small while traveling so you remember exactly where you were when you found it.
Sunday morning with no alarm.
A fridge with champagne in it for no particular reason.
A house that doesn’t look like anyone else’s.
People who have strong opinions about completely unimportant things.
And maybe, most importantly:
Having enough little things you love that an ordinary day doesn’t feel quite so ordinary.
