1. Writing
The act of pressing words onto a page is akin to listening to one’s own pulse. It is confession without penance, conversation without interruption. Sometimes the words echo back, sometimes they dissolve into silence—but the page never judges, only receives. A therapist who never bills by the hour.
2. Reading
Books are the only form of time travel we have. They transport me to cobblestone streets in Prague, to cramped Tokyo apartments, to battles fought centuries ago. A well-worn novel is both escape and homecoming.
3. First Cup with the Divine
Morning meditation, paired with coffee—what I call the gospel and the grind. There’s something quietly miraculous about dawn prayers steeped in caffeine. The Word and the roast, dark, rich, necessary.
4. Coffee
Black, no sugar. The liquid thread that stitches my routines together. Whether sipped alone in silence or shared across a cluttered table, it is the one constant—a humble sacrament.
5. Photographs
Frozen instants, fragile as dried flowers pressed between pages. Some bring laughter, others a dull ache—but even the painful ones are proof: I was there. I lived. A museum of moments I can revisit whenever the present feels too thin.
These are not grand joys, but they are mine. And in their quiet repetition, they build a life worth waking to.
BB Grey--musings 
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