Still glowing when it gets bumped
A love letter to the weird little items beside us as we try to keep going
A coaster.
Pink salt lamp.
Mouth tape (one used, this is a judgement free zone, by the way).
Soy candle with actual leaves tucked inside the jar (don’t ask, it was autumn, the air was crisp, and I was feeling wildly poetic while the leaves were pretty).
A Kindle.
A hair donut.
I usually have a book and a journal there too, but they’ve clearly missed the party. I wonder where I misplaced it.
These six items, plus a phone charging overnight, have held down the fort. Right next to me as I sleep. Right next to me as I wake.
Some things rotate in and out. But these are the constants.
Except for the mouth tape. That really should not still be there. It has no business still being there.
Sometimes I accidentally bump the lamp and it lights up from inside, glowing soft pink like a Himalayan gemstone. It makes the IKEA corkscrew coaster shimmer like it’s been waiting all its life for this moment.
I pick up the candle. Blow off some dust. Lift the brittle little leaves I tucked in there months ago. I forgot the wax was white. Dusty white. Which feels strangely poetic too.
I toss the mouth tape in the trash. Finally.
I’m just trying to optimize my sleep. That’s all.
To be fair, this space is pretty tidy.
I don’t do well with clutter. If my nightstand’s a mess, my brain is a mess.
But even when it’s clean, it says something.
It’s a small corner of calm. A tiny oasis. One of the first things I see when I wake up.
Sometimes I sit at the edge of the bed and just... notice it.
I sat there longer than I meant to.
Not scrolling on my phone. Not rushing to the next thing. Just… still.
I thought about how many nights I’ve ended right here, overwhelmed and still hoping.
How many mornings I’ve stared at this same mess and felt like I should be more.
Do more. Fix more.
And yet, it’s all still here. So am I.
What do these objects say about me?
A coaster: because I always, always, always have my water nearby (always).
The salt lamp: yes, I care about air quality and also soft moody lights.
Mouth tape (again?): listen, I’m doing my best.
The soy candle: yes, because I still love moody lighting and pretending I live in a forest cottage.
The Kindle and the book: story lover, always.
Hair donut: thick haired sleeper in survival mode.
Journal: mostly untouched lately, but still hopeful. Still trying.
Sometimes I look at my nightstand and think,
This must be the life of someone with it all together.
Other times, I look at the same objects and think,
This is the life of someone who’s desperately trying to feel okay.
Maybe it’s both.
Because that’s what this season has been, mostly.
Not dramatic change. Not chaos. Just… little efforts. Quiet ones.
Trying to rest better.
Trying to read more.
Trying to make the edges of life feel a bit softer.
Not everything here is getting used. Not every journal is being filled.
But maybe that’s not the point.
Maybe these objects are just soft little reminders:
You’re tired, but you still care.
You’re overwhelmed, but you’re still trying.
You’re human, and that’s more than enough.
It’s easy to look at your life and think you’re not doing enough.
But sometimes your nightstand tells a different story.
It’s cluttered. A little dusty.
Still glowing when it gets bumped.
It’s trying.
Just like you.
(Even if the mouth tape says otherwise.)