About six things that make me happy

In a break from our scheduled navel-gazing, six things that bring me a bit of joy when I need it.

There’s nothing my novelty-seeking little brain likes better than a special treat. That treat is not always a food or a thing. Sometimes it’s an activity, or a routine. Occasionally it’s just a moment.

Here’s what I’ve noticed makes the pinball ricochet around happily. Perhaps some of them will work for you, too.

1. An iced Kyoto latte from Arabica Covent Garden

A Kyoto latte is a double shot of espresso topped with a dash of condensed milk and then finished with regular milk. It’s strong as fuck and just sweet enough; its sibling, the Spanish latte, doubles the condensed milk and I find that rather too much. I never get the hot version, preferring my refreshing coffee milkshake as God intended.

I process caffeine very fast, and it makes me think and speak even faster than usual. Last time I rang my husband shortly after necking one he asked me if I’d had a coffee. “How did you know?” I asked. “Because you sound like a YouTube video on 1.5 speed.” And then when my power hour is over I crash in a way I also kind of enjoy. After that 5pm phone call I went home and had to practically hold my eyes open to stop myself falling asleep at 7pm. I did not have any trouble sleeping that night.

Not even the experience of having to look incredibly dense in front of one of their baristas—an ocean-glass-blue-eyed Viking of a man—has ruined it for me. He tried to start a friendly chat and my ADHD-gifted audio processing fuckery meant I couldn’t make head nor tail of his accent, and had to explain this. He looked mildly alarmed, but at least he didn’t think my inability to understand him was his fault.

2. Having a brief interchange with a stranger

I have chronic resting rage face, which is probably why people rarely interrupt me—and I love it that way. But once in a while a natural conversation bubbles up with someone you don’t know, and in the brief gap between ignoring each other and awkwardly parting ways there’s a little shot of sociability adrenaline I really enjoy.

The other day, Ash and I spent my day off footling around north London, and ended up having one of these moments with a cheery mum in the Hampstead station lifts. She commented on the uncommon air con, and joked about it being funded by the areas famously well-heeled residents. We talked about the Metropolitan line. It was a really basic nothing of a conversation, but the little bee sting of connection it offered was just enough to lift the spirits.

3. Standing for a moment, eyes closed, facing the sun

Every time this is remotely possible in London, I do it. And I love it.

Bonus points if you’re listening to something that scratches the dopamine sensors juuuuust right at the same time.

4. The moment when you realise you’ve properly broken into a book

Starting a new book isn’t all that fun for me, as I get overwhelmed with all the work I’m going to have to do to understand the characters and context and plot. Like first dates it’s more stress and potential than actual enjoyment. But there’s a third date moment, about 20% of the way into a decent read, where you realise you’re in it. You know the rules. You understand the game. You’ve got favourite pieces and you’re starting to predict what happens next.

Sometimes I become aware of the settling in as it happens, and it gives me (and if you’re a certain age you’ll hear this in the voice of Phil Daniels) a sense of enormous wellbeing.

5. Finding the next song hyperfixation

Music isn’t really a special interest of mine, but finding the song or songs of the moment that I can listen to on repeat to help me gear up on the walk to the office or wind down on the commute home? That’s satisfying in its own special way.

This week I’ve been largely bouncing between The Beastie Boys’ Sabotage and Cake’s cover of I Will Survive. Probably the only version of the latter that could stick, given that disco beats generally make me a bit stabby.

6. A long-ass walk. Especially one I didn’t think I wanted to take

I’ve never found especial joy in exercise, and I’m pretty unfit. But I’ve realised that walking for at least 45 minutes every day really helps my mind find a bit more equilibrium, rather than pinging up and down like high striker at a village fair.

I’ve never once regretted getting more steps in, even if I’m knackered and my hips start complaining. Ultimately, I always feel better for having done it. And if I had to drag myself out to do it, I get an extra boost for having overridden the signals from a body that was perfectly equipped to do it but also really liked lying down.

I am, of course, interested in your dopamine fixes too. Not necessarily to try them—we all have to find our own triggers—but because I’m a nosy little fucker. And chewing on your little kernel of personal interest will give me joy too. Over to you.