This summer I didn’t go anywhere or do anything spectacular. But it was a wonderful summer. And I probably wouldn’t have even stopped to think about why I enjoyed it so much if, during a conversation, I hadn’t heard someone question the value of simple joys.

That’s what made me start thinking more seriously about our relationship with the little things. We have an entire vocabulary for them: from “enjoy the present,” “savor the moment,” and “the beauty of small things,” to the classic Instagram-friendly phrases —little treats, slow mornings, romanticize your life. Maybe we’ve used them so often that we’ve started to drain them of their meaning.

And yet, how small are life’s joys, really?

I found the answer in my own summer. I thought about the things that had made it so good and gathered them into a list.

The scent of summer mornings

It’s the simplest thing on my list, and perhaps the easiest to take for granted. I love the way the cool morning air blends with the scent of flowers and dry grass. It instantly gives me a simple, almost childlike sense of joy.

The Coffee from Brewno

It became part of my routine on the days I went to the office this summer. Twice a week, I enjoyed the same flat white with pea milk. Part of the charm of this little treat also comes from the people there. They’re always cheerful and never forget to wish me a lovely day.

A good book

One of my favorite reads of the summer cost only a few cents. My mother found the book at a flea market. I started reading it late one morning and didn’t put it down until after sunset. The real luxury wasn’t the cheap book itself, but having an unusually quiet day with enough room in it for an entire story.

The Watercolors

I’m no great painter, but perhaps it’s no coincidence that painting does me so much good. My father was a true artist, and I like to think I inherited from him at least the joy of color. That’s why I love those moments when I can paint quietly, choosing simple subjects in warm, comforting shades. However ordinary they may be, they have a way of pulling me, if only for a little while, out of the usual rhythm of the day.

An evening spent on Bega river

It was a spontaneous invitation, and I spent most of that evening sitting on a bench, absolutely freezing. Still, I loved watching my brothers sit on the steps by the water, eating sunflower seeds and chatting with their friends. I had an interesting conversation with my mother, and toward the end of the evening, I listened to the optimistic story of a teenage girl who joined us.

The Sunset on my terrace

Sunsets are probably the ultimate champions of romanticized “little joys.” The view from my terrace is nothing extraordinary—just houses under construction and, a little farther away, a patch of open field that has somehow escaped them so far. And yet, in the evening, the sky does almost all the work.

It’s a small list, much like the joys it contains. But maybe we don’t overlook them because they are small. Maybe we overlook them because anything good, once it becomes familiar, starts to feel ordinary. We get used to the things that quietly make our lives better and stop giving them much thought. What stays in focus instead is everything that is missing, or everything that hasn’t turned out quite the way we wanted.

I think this is where gratitude finds its place. But not that kind of gratitude practiced as a simple exercise in positivity. Rather, the sincere awareness that the good things we have are not as natural as they come to seem to us. So, when I look back on this summer, it doesn’t seem ordinary to me at all.