There’s a phrase that floats around the internet: romanticize your life. For some, it may conjure filtered images and pastel aesthetics — curated Instagram grids that somehow highlight the lack of beauty in one’s own life. But for me, it’s something quieter. Deeper. It's not about performance — it's about presence. It’s about falling in love with your life as it actually is. Right here. Right now.
Romanticizing life is a form of reverence. It's choosing to notice the sacred in the mundane.
It's training your eyes to see beauty not just in grand moments, but in chipped teacups, steam rising from your bath, or the sound of birdsong while you wait for your coffee to brew. It’s how I’ve survived heartbreak. How I’ve softened grief. How I’ve learned to remain in the moment rather than forever chasing what’s next.
It’s also a daily devotion to gratitude — not the performative kind, but the kind that arrives when you truly witness your own life. The witnessing of moments that don’t make it to Instagram or even your camera roll. The noticing of dust particles in a shaft of morning light. The cool hush of air before the world blooms awake. A home filled with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. The way your perfume clings to a sweater, greeting you with its unexpected warmth the next time you slip it from its hanger.
These are the brief but beautiful moments we rarely name, never photograph. The ones that pass unnoticed — unless we pause, exhale, and mark them with a silent nod and a flicker of reverence.
How I Romanticize My Life
I romanticize my life in ways small and not-so-small. Yes, there are big trips to cobblestoned cities. My home is magazine-worthy — designed, styled, and maintained for maximum creature comfort. There are fancy dinners in expensive restaurants and services I pay for (housecleaning, landscaping) to create more space for me to live slowly and beautifully.
But arguably, the most impactful rituals are the smallest ones.
I wear my best jewelry with jeans and a T-shirt.
I spray perfume every day — even when I have nowhere to go — because scent connects me to memory and mood.
I use cloth napkins for every meal and snack, because they feel better in my hands than paper towels.
I light the good candle the day I get it — nothing is saved for “someday.” Every day is special enough.
I drink tea from mismatched floral china, even if the dishwasher is unkind to it.
I notice how the morning sunlight filters through the café curtains in my kitchen.
I admire the elegant arc of a tree’s branches over a walking path.
I reread striking sentences in books and rise to find a pen, because words are spells and should be underlined.
I pause to register my own inner contentment, marveling at how much happier I am now that I notice all the little things.
I don’t do these things to be fancy. I do them because they remind me I’m alive.
They remind me that even in the most ordinary moments, there are infinite pixels of profound value — each one a shimmer of softness, a spark of presence.
And when stitched together, these moments become a tapestry. A soft, edge-blurred masterpiece of a life that feels wholly my own.
Gratitude as a Lens, Not a Chore
Gratitude isn’t always about lists in a journal. Sometimes it’s just pausing. Noticing. Taking a breath and saying, “This is good. Let me stay here a moment longer.”
Romanticizing your life begins with this kind of gratitude — a willingness to see beauty in places you’d usually rush past. A glimmer of sunlight on the floor. The smell of toast. The fact that you have warm socks, clean sheets, or hands that can make soup.
It’s not about pretending everything is perfect. It’s about learning to love what is.
15 Ways To Romanticize Your Life
Here are some gentle, tangible ways to begin:
Use the beautiful china — not for guests or special occasions, but for Tuesday toast and jam.
Buy yourself fresh flowers — or forage a handful of weeds and place them in an old jar.
Sip water from thrifted etched glassware. Let hydration feel like elegance.
Light a candle before you journal, while you clean, or as you fold laundry. Flame makes everything feel sacred.
Layer yourself in scent. Dab perfume on your wrists, in your hair, or on your pillow.
Eat outdoors when you can, even if it’s just your front step with a cup of tea.
Write love notes to your future self and tuck them into drawers.
Dress for your mood. Let your clothes become part of your poetry.
Play music while you cook — old jazz, cello suites, or something that feels like falling in love.
Write slowly with a nice pen in a beautiful journal.
Wear matching pajama sets to bed — it feels like quiet luxury to look lovely just for yourself.
Take a bubble bath in the middle of the day with soft music and a little plate of fruit bathside — especially when there are a dozen other things you “should” be doing.
Stroll the farmer’s market in a linen sundress, lingering over the colors, textures, and smells.
Talk to your plants as you water them. Ask how they’re doing. Tell them they make you happy.
Plant a garden of mint, lemon balm, chamomile, thyme, and rosemary. Clip fresh sprigs each evening for a cup of tea.
Above all, slow down. Choose softness when you can. Let the small things matter.
A Practice, Not A Performance
You don’t need to spend money or curate a perfect aesthetic to romanticize your life. You only need presence. You only need to remember that your life — your actual, honest, imperfect life — is worthy of tenderness.
Light the candle. Use the china. Savor the coffee.
Look out the window and let yourself feel the joy of being here, now, in this fleeting and miraculous moment.
The little things are what gets me through the tuff times, and elevate the good times. I really appreciate your writing, it resonates with me. Thank you for putting it all out there.