Sunday evening was spent in a woeful spiral, as I pondered the life choices that have led me to this point: a woman who must rise at 7am to go sit at an office desk. As much as i love my job, I was still wishing for just one more week of doing nothing. Somewhere between tears and determination, I made a vow over the phone to a friend : “Tomorrow—day one of the work year—I will wake up and be excited for my life.”

But as it turns out, “tomorrow” (which is now “today”) had other plans.

7:15am. The alarm buzzed. I’d set it 15 minutes later than usual, purely due to the struggle I knew lay ahead after 10 alarm-free holiday mornings of waking up at 9am, with winter sunlight streaming in like a gentle hug.

Now? It was pitch black.

Snooze.

7:25am. The alarm buzzed again.

Snooze.

7:35am. Same story. A series of snoozes later, I finally emerged into the darkness of the CET timezone.

Lights: ON.
Kettle: boiling.
Coffee: brewing.
Milk: frothing.
My toothbrush, judging me silently, wondering why on earth it had been woken at such a senseless hour.

Miraculously, two cups of coffee later, I felt human again. The most energy-draining task of the morning turned out to be ironing my outfit—a task I hadn’t anticipated because, while the outfit was pre-planned, its state was not.

8:41am. My phone politely informed me it was now “sunrise.” Cute. The sun rising at 8:41 felt like a bad joke. Why she thinks she can rise so late while the rest of us are stumbling around in the dark, stubbing toes and misplacing contact lenses, is beyond me.

9:07am. I finally left the house. The sun was technically up, but the sky was gray. As I trudged along Rue Réaumur, listening to a podcast filled with optimistic affirmations, the rain began to fall, and the wind flipped my umbrella inside out.

“No, it’s fine,” I whispered to myself, channeling the podcast. “You can do this. Focus, shift your perspective, stay in the zone.”

What got me through, I realised, was the knowledge that 90% of us office-dwellers were in the same (sad) boat. We were all dragging ourselves through the first Monday of the year together.

(As for the other 10%, they were smart enough to take today as annual leave. I wished, in that moment as the rain tried to batter me, that I’d done the same.)

9:28pm. Now, as I sit here, at home, in my happy space with my half eaten bowl of hot chicken soup, I’m struck by how the day wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it had its moments—like my coronation.

Yes, you heard me: I am now a queen. While enjoying a slice of Galette des Rois (a French tradition I’ve grown rather fond of), I found myself biting down on the tiny porcelain fève hidden inside. And just like that, I was crowned.

Maybe it was the adamant self talk this morning that got me through, or maybe it was my determination to find some joy about today, the hardest day of the year. But its over now, it wasn’t so bad and…hello, Im a Queen!

Bisous Bisous