“Coffee, Waffles, and George Harrison”

Some mornings feel heavier than others, but today wasn’t one of them. It started with the rich aroma of coffee from the French press and the soft clatter of a fork on a plate. The smell of coffee drifted through the house like a quiet promise, and a warm and imperfect waffle waited patiently while George Harrison played in the background.

George has always been my favorite Beatle—there’s something grounded and searching in his music that feels like home. And on a weekday morning, when the world usually demands motion over meaning, his songs remind me that even regular days deserve a little reverence.

What Is Life came on first, and something about that opening riff tugged at my chest in the best way—like a reminder to be awake in the world, not just moving through it. I found myself swaying a little in the kitchen, still in my pajamas, barefoot on the cool tile floor. Sunlight streamed through the window like it had been waiting for me to notice it.

Then My Sweet Lord filled the room. It always feels like a prayer wrapped in a melody—longing and light, grief and joy holding hands. I stood still for a second, just listening. Then I danced. Not gracefully, not for anyone else—just me, twirling quietly between the counter and the table, coffee in hand, waffle half-eaten on the plate.

Something about that particular mix—George’s voice, the smell of breakfast, the morning light—makes the world feel soft and manageable. Not perfect, not easy, but good enough. And sometimes, good enough is everything.