Small Joys: A Week of Little Moments

I’ve been on a “small joys” kick lately—those unplanned, unremarkable moments that end up sticking in your memory. Last week had a few that felt too nice not to note down, so here’s how it went.​

The Coffee Shop That Felt Like a Secret​

I usually hit the same chain café on my way to work, but Monday’s rain made me detour into a place I’d passed a hundred times: “Bean There, Brewed That.” The door creaked when I pushed it open, and the air smelled like cinnamon and freshly ground dark roast. A barista with a nose ring—Lila, her name tag said—grinned and said, “First time? Try the honey latte. It’s our thing.”​

I did, and she was right. It came in a chipped mug (the good kind, with character), and as I sipped, I noticed the walls: covered in polaroids of regulars, their dogs, even a few babies. A guy at the next table was scribbling in a notebook, pausing every so often to laugh at his own jokes. I stayed 15 minutes longer than I should have, watching raindrops slide down the window, and left with a warm mug in hand and a mental note to skip the chain tomorrow.​

A Lunch Break That Turned Into a Mini Adventure​

Wednesday’s lunch was supposed to be a sad sandwich at my desk, but my coworker Maya dragged me out, saying, “There’s a food truck by the park. Trust me.” She was talking about “Taco Tuesday Truck,” which, despite the name, was there on Wednesdays too. The line was long, but the guy grilling the al pastor had a playlist of 2000s pop, and everyone was singing along.​

We got our tacos—mine with extra cilantro—and plopped down on a bench. A golden retriever bounded over, tail thumping, and Maya let him lick a drop of salsa off her finger. The taco’s juice dripped onto my jeans, but I didn’t care. We talked about nothing important—how Maya’s plant is finally thriving, how my neighbor’s cat keeps sneaking into my balcony—and by the time we headed back, my sandwich (forgotten in the fridge) didn’t stand a chance.​

Evening Gardening, Thorns and All​

I’ve been trying to keep a windowsill garden since spring, with mixed results. My basil died (RIP), but the cherry tomato plant? It’s surviving. Thursday evening, I noticed a few ripe ones—tiny, sun-warmed, blushing red. I grabbed scissors and leaned in, only to prick my finger on a thorn. “Ow,” I muttered, but kept going.​

Picking them felt silly, like a big deal over something so small, but there’s something satisfying about plucking food you grew yourself. I ate one right there—juicy, a little tart—and it tasted better than any store-bought tomato. I put the rest in a bowl, and when my sister called later, I told her all about it. “Nerd,” she said, but I heard her smile.​

Wrapping Up the Week With a Movie Night​

Saturday, I canceled my plans (gasp) and stayed in. I dug out an old blanket—frayed at the edges, but soft from years of use—and made popcorn, the kind that burns if you look away. I popped in Clueless (a classic, fight me) and settled on the couch.​

Halfway through, my best friend texted: “What are you up to?” I sent a pic of the popcorn (slightly charred) and the movie, and 20 minutes later, she was at my door with ice cream. We talked over the dialogue, laughed at Cher’s outfits, and ate way too much. By the end, the blanket was draped over both of us, and the popcorn bowl was empty.​

It’s funny, right? None of this was “exciting”—no trips, no big events—but it all added up to a week that felt… full. I’m starting to think that’s the good stuff.​