Romanticizing the Ordinary: Finding Steadiness After Chaos

“The happiest people romanticize their life because they know magic exists where they choose to  find it.”-Case Kenny

I never truly understood the meaning of “romanticizing life.” I used to think it meant pretending everything was beautiful, even when it wasn’t. Lately, I’m realizing it’s something much different than I once believed. To me, romanticizing life now means noticing and embracing the small things — and choosing to be fully present in them.

It looks like sunlight coming through my window before my alarm goes off. It’s the quiet drive home after a long shift. It’s the comfort of listening to a podcast or music while I get ready for the day. These moments aren’t extraordinary, but they feel steady. And lately, steady feels like something worth paying attention to.

For a long time, my life felt anything but steady. Calm felt like an illusion. I was so used to chaos that my body lived in fight-or-flight mode for longer than I can even measure. Nothing felt certain. Everything felt temporary. I didn’t have the capacity to notice small moments because I was just trying to survive them. Now, slowing down enough to appreciate the ordinary parts of my day feels like a quiet form of healing.

Romanticizing my life now isn’t about pretending everything is perfect. It’s about letting myself feel safe in moments that once would have passed unnoticed. Of course, this is still a learning curve for me. It’s about choosing to see steadiness as something sacred, not boring.

When you’re used to chaos, you become skilled at preparing for the next thing to go wrong. You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. For a long time, I felt paralyzed in my own soul. I wanted so badly to feel steady. I often questioned whether my life felt unsteady because of me — or because of the choices I made that placed me in those situations. Truly, all I wanted was to feel loved, valued, and validated for simply being myself. For a long time, it felt impossible to receive those things in return.

Through time and healing, I’m learning that steadiness isn’t something I have to chase — it’s something I can create. I can choose the environments I place myself in. I can choose the people I surround myself with. I can choose who I allow close to me. I’m finally understanding that protecting myself doesn’t mean isolating from everyone. It means protecting my energy by being intentional about what — and who — I allow into my life.

What I’ve realized about romanticizing life is that it doesn’t have to be extraordinary.

I don’t have to take expensive trips or live some lavish lifestyle. I just have to live a life I feel at peace in.

Finding peace while healing isn’t easy, but it does come — slowly, gently, over time. And more than anything, I know that feeling at home in my soul and in my life is what I truly want.

I’m not naïve enough to believe life will never feel chaotic again. There will still be hard days. There will still be moments that shake me. But I’m learning that steadiness isn’t something that disappears the moment difficulty returns. It’s something I carry with me now — something that has slowly rooted itself inside me. And maybe that’s what romanticizing my life truly means: not escaping the chaos, but knowing I can return to calm.

I don’t know what every season of my life will bring, but I know I want to meet it from a place of steadiness instead of survival. And maybe feeling at home in my own life — even in its ordinary moments — is the most romantic thing of all.