Gratitude in everyday life grows from the smallest moments – the smell of coffee, a quiet house, and autumn slowly settling in. In the silent morning, my body wakes gently, and peace fills the room. Life in the motorhome will have to wait for a while, but maybe we’ll take one last weekend trip before winter takes over. Autumn invites us to nest, to the scent of green tomatoes in sweet brine, and to the feeling of being in rhythm with time.
Sometimes life feels just like the sky in the picture above – clouds gathering, yet the light always finds its way through. That’s where gratitude in everyday life lives, in the shift between darkness and light.
A New Morning in Gratitude in Everyday Life
It’s a new morning – and I’ve been given the privilege of waking to yet another day. Gratitude already lives within my body as the coffee warms the air, and the house rests in silence. Everyone else is still asleep. This is my moment – that small, still space before the world wakes up.
Gratitude in Everyday Life – Light, Warmth, and Green Tomatoes
Yesterday, my husband and I decided to rearrange our living room. It turned out so well that I spent almost the whole day there. Outside, the wind howled, but inside, I lit candles in every corner and let autumn truly move in.
A quiet moment as day turns to evening. Here peace lives – and gratitude too.
While the candles flickered, I cooked green tomatoes in sweet brine – sugar, vinegar, cloves, and cinnamon. The scent filled the whole house.
The taste of the past. Green tomatoes in syrup – a small piece of nostalgia and gratitude in everyday life.
I used to make them every year, but it hasn’t happened in a while. Now the jar stands there on the kitchen counter, and I feel a small, childlike excitement about what the family will think when they taste them.
When the simple things are allowed to ripen at their own pace – just like life itself.
In Tune with Time and Gratitude in Everyday Life
Alfred was here on Friday to help me bring everything in from the garden. Pots, tools, and soil all came inside before the storm arrived. We pulled up the carrots and planted garlic – next year, I’ll be able to pick fresh garlic from our own garden.
It feels unusual to be in rhythm with the season. Gratitude in everyday life shows up in that feeling – when everything is in its place. Now only the lawnmower and the hose remain; they’ll come in soon too. In the greenhouse, clean, empty pots now stand in neat rows. All the spades, rakes, and garden tools are on holiday until spring.
Autumn Moves In – and So Does Gratitude in Everyday Life
My body is slowly adjusting to autumn and winter. It feels good, almost peaceful, to nest and let the season settle. Still, we haven’t decided if the motorhome will rest completely yet. Maybe there will be one last trip – a weekend with coffee on the gas stove and the lake like a mirror outside the window.
Either way, it’s time for cleaning and unpacking. Summer clothes, blankets, and little things will come inside, where they belong. They’re happier here than in a damp motorhome. Once everything is clean and ready, the motorhome will get its thank you – its see you next year.
Maybe that’s where gratitude in everyday life lives. In the moment before we close things down, in the space between summer and winter. When we can feel that we made it – and that everything is just as it should be.
AHA – The Small Things that Hold Gratitude in Everyday Life
Aha… sometimes gratitude in everyday life isn’t about the big things. It hides in the small ones – the smell of coffee, the feeling of being just in time before the storm, and being in tune with the season. I think that’s when life feels the most – when it’s simple and still.
Between the Lines
Between the lines lives calm. Here I am – in silence, in the everyday, in the small movements that make up my life. This is where I breathe, where I feel – and where I’m grateful just to exist. Gratitude in everyday life lives here, when we begin to truly practice gratitude.
A Question for You, Dear Reader
When was the last time you felt gratitude in everyday life – for something small, like a cup of coffee, a quiet morning, or simply being just in time before the storm?
Yesterday has already found its rest in history. There, we planted seeds that may grow into harvests today or tomorrow – the tomorrow waiting further ahead, out there in the future.
But right now – this is where life happens. Right now, and right now is always here. This is where we plant our seeds.
Autumn projects and joy in everyday life fill this morning. Coffee, a lake swim and creative energy give strength while the greenhouse rests until spring.
Good morning. Yesterday I didn’t write a post – I was fully occupied with my autumn projects and joy in everyday life. The morning was quiet, just as it is now, and I simply let it be. I sat in the silence, reflecting and gathering energy for the day’s tasks.
It was only four degrees Celsius when I took off my bathrobe by the lake. Yet it didn’t feel cold – the sun shone and warmed without burning. Mist floated across the water, and the scent of moist soil blended with the freshness of the lake. Everything was beautiful and still.
A Morning Swim that Brings Joy
The swim felt almost ceremonial. The water was still 15 °C (59 °F) – cool, yet surprisingly warm on the skin. I swam 200 meters together with my morning-swim friends while the sun glittered on the surface. The sense of well-being lingered as I drove home, as if the lake had given me an inner glow of joy.
Consciously choosing joy can begin with something as simple as a morning swim.
Autumn Projects in the Greenhouse
Back home, I continued with my autumn projects. The greenhouse was put to rest. I removed all tomato and cucumber plants, scrubbed pots and walls, and enjoyed the pleasant rhythm of the work. I also washed our bed linens – perhaps the last time this year they could dry in the crisp autumn sun. That evening, as I slipped into the sheets, their fresh scent became a small, luxurious moment of gratitude.
Creativity and the Words of Kay Pollak
While cleaning, my thoughts wandered. I’ve promised myself to finish the garden before moving down to my basement studio of paints and canvases. There, a new painting awaits – a joy painting. I picture water and mountains with the words “Choose Joy” dancing across the landscape. Maybe it will become something entirely different when the brush meets the canvas, but for now the idea burns like a gentle flame inside me.
Your Turn – How Do You Welcome Autumn?
How do you receive the autumn season and all its possibilities?
Do you start new projects when the air turns sharper and the mornings clearer?
Or do you, as I sometimes do, simply let the morning be what it is?
I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment. Your autumn project might inspire someone else.
Reflection
Today I choose joy. Maybe it begins with a cup of coffee, a 15 °C swim, or the scent of sun-dried sheets. In these small moments, I see how Kay Pollak’s idea—that we can choose our attitude—becomes real.
Yesterday has already settled into history, tomorrow is waiting further ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
AHA – Between the Lines
Writing this made me realize that it isn’t only the greenhouse that rests. I, too, am gathering strength. The swim, the thoughts of painting, and the earthy scents are ways to meet a new season with gratitude instead of stress. AHA insight: Joy is a choice that starts in the simplest actions.
Your Voice – Between the Lines
Beneath the surface, this text is about the courage to slow down—to give yourself permission to finish one phase before creating the next. It’s a reminder that joy often grows when we stop chasing it.
Here in our motorhome in Kungshamn, the countdown has begun. Not for all our motorhome trips, but perhaps for the last time we come here to Kungshamn this season. In our LVL² I meet silence, my thoughts, and everyday moments that turn into memories – with the coffee cup by my side, the sea outside, and the words that always follow.
This morning I woke up in Kungshamn. The coffee was, as always, by my side while the rest of the family in the motorhome was still asleep. I love these moments when I’m awake all by myself in the motorhome and nothing, or no one, disturbs me while my fingers move across the keyboard.
It fills me with peace. Solitude is not loneliness – it’s a moment with myself and all that lives inside me: my thoughts, my feelings, and the stillness of waking up together with the words. Just me, the coffee – and you, reading this. It warms my heart that so many of you stop by here. Imagine, little me, writing things that others actually want to read.
Performance anxiety knocking on the door
When I only wrote in Swedish, there weren’t that many visitors. Now you are more, mostly from the USA but also from other parts of the world. It brings me joy – but also a small fear. An anxiety. The struggle to perform sneaks in.
What do you want to read about? Do I write well enough? And then I realize – those are not the right thoughts. Because I am me, and I write best when I write with my own words. Performance anxiety only makes me worse. Therefore, I lean back and choose instead to feel grateful that so many of you read, even in English.
Bath memories from the motorhome in Kungshamn
We usually come here a few times a year. At Wiggersvik I have gone swimming late into autumn and very early in spring. One year, the water was only 4.8 degrees Celsius. A man sitting in a boat shouted that he thought I was brave. Maybe brave, but when you do it often it just feels natural.
Yesterday, as we walked down to the jetties, I saw that there would be no swim for me. The water was full of red jellyfish glowing angrily. I’m scared of them. If I were to swim among those stinging creatures, then I would truly test my courage. At the same time, I admit – here I’m a coward. A swim would have been refreshing and wonderful, but I didn’t dare.
Last night my husband and I sat outside. We set the table with crayfish, prawns, toasted bread and mayonnaise. For me, crayfish – I admit I’m a bit lazy, I don’t have the patience to peel small prawns. The prawns went to my husband, who has that patience.
We bought pre-packaged prawns and crayfish at Citygross. Usually, we’ve always gone to the fresh counter to order over the counter. I admit, I had a prejudice. I thought those pre-packed paper bags contained the seafood that wasn’t good enough for the counter. That the prawns wouldn’t be as fresh.
But I was proven wrong. I got a lesson. Because my prejudiced thoughts turned out to be false. Moreover, the prawns and crayfish were of excellent quality. One or two crayfish may have been overcooked, but most were firm and delicious. A small reminder to myself not to judge too quickly.
Evening by the sea
It was colder than the evenings before this weekend in the motorhome. I sat wrapped in a blanket and wished I had been wise enough to take a picture of the sea. The water rocked in long, soft movements – almost like a meditation. Clouds, rays of sunlight and seagulls turned the surroundings into a living painting.
Here in Kungshamn, autumn is already more visible than at home. The leaves glow in yellow and red, and the trees are bathing in color. I think it has all gone far too quickly. Still, it is beautiful. Summer already feels far away.
Read more about our travels in the category Motorhome Life
Reflection
Kungshamn became yet another journey that stayed with me. A place where I had to face both my fear of jellyfish and my prejudice about prawns in a paper bag. The sea swaying, autumn coloring the trees, and in the motorhome I found my moment with words. It is precisely these moments that make me want to keep writing, even when performance anxiety tries to sneak in.
AHA – between the lines
It’s not always the sea or the place itself that matters. It’s the meeting with myself that happens there. When the crayfish surprised me with their quality, when I chickened out in front of the jellyfish, or when the coffee tasted extra good in solitude – that was what mattered. It was never just Kungshamn, it was always me in the meeting with Kungshamn.
My voice – between the lines
I see myself here in the motorhome, with my coffee, my keyboard and the sea outside. I worry about not writing well enough, but at the same time I know that words carry best when they are my own. Between the lines I hear a pride that I dare to be myself, even in the small words. I doubt, but I don’t give up. And maybe that is why I keep going.
Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Yesterday has already rested in history, tomorrow waits further ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
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