Those moments in between

The house is calm and quiet. Life hasn’t started yet, everyone’s asleep. It’s that gentle pause before the world begins, where everything feels untouched, with so much space to breathe, think, and feel.

It’s Saturday morning, and a text message appears on my phone. I’m already awake, trying to stick to my 6 am routine, even on weekends. Otherwise, my body is still partying at 11 pm when all I really want is to be in bed by 9. Yep, that’s just me—I’m an early-to-bed kind of person, prepping for retirement already, and I love it!

My dog, May, stretches her tiny legs beside me, letting out the longest sigh—my poor, unemployed dog and her big sighs. She looks for someone to lock eyes with, searching for connection. I greet her with a huge smile, pressing my forehead against hers for just a second. Even after 2.5 years of taking her from the shelter, I’m still in awe of her. She’s perfect.

I adore every single part of her: her small baby teeth, the way she lets out these tiny dream-barks in her sleep (otherwise, she never barks), her elegance and her unapologetic expressiveness when it comes to her needs. After our morning acknowledgment, she nestles back under her cozy blanket, sighing again, indulging in a slow Saturday morning.

A slow morning, something I’ve always treasured. The quiet time before all of my senses wake up. Connecting with myself, before I connect with anyone else.

I’m closing my book, it’s Roxie Nafousi’s Manifest-Dive Deeper. I love this topic, both scientifically and spiritually. How we can align our behavior, prime our minds, and become the future selves we want to be. Even elite athletes use this method, so why don’t we? Championing in our own lives should be just as important as championing in the Olympics!

But where was I?

Ah, yes—the text message.

"Coffee?"

It’s from my mum. Just one word, but it lights me up.

I throw off the blanket, jump out of bed, and run downstairs barefoot in my wrinkled tie-dye PJs. She’s in the kitchen, her golden lion hair everywhere, like a big, unruly crown. I inherited half of her crown, so we look pretty silly together, our hair stubbornly pointing in every direction.

I walk like a cat, completely silent—she barely has time to react before I wrap my arms around her from behind, startling her for just a second before she starts to laugh.

Seven years abroad. Seven years away from mornings like this. My heart drops a little at the thought. But here I am now, back in Hungary, close to her again.

Sometimes I’m too hard on her when it comes to her health, but it’s only because I want her to be around for many, many more years to come.

Maybe to backdate the seven years I lost while living abroad, to somehow make up for the time I wasn’t here.

As if I could press rewind, stretch the mornings we missed, stack them up into extra time, extra coffee chats, extra hugs.

But time doesn’t work like that.

We stand there, hugging, and all I feel for her is unconditional love.

How can a person stand by your side no matter what?
How can they love you in all your forms, all your versions?
Your obsessions, your distance, your mistakes, your failures?

My mum always says that even if she had to visit me in jail one day, she would still love me the same way.

I mean, Mum, thanks—but what?!

This always makes me laugh with a bit of shock. It’s not exactly a realistic scenario, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

What she’s saying, in her own way, is: I’ll love you, no matter what.

And that’s the safest and most loving thing I’ve ever known.

We settle onto the wide couch, getting ready for our coffee ritual. The sun paints the living room in soft yellow light. She hands me my coffee, and for a while, we just sit there, wrapped in a shared blanket, sharing this moment.

A wedding. Getting your diploma. Moving to a new country.

These are all big things… but to be honest, life is a collection of these moments, in between the huge ones.

The ones we hardly notice.
The ones we don’t document.
The ones we almost take for granted.

A coffee. A text. A quiet, simple ritual.

We always count the years in romantic relationships, but how often do we do that with our mums?
How often do we celebrate these moments?

More than ever, I find myself pulled toward these little big moments, the ones that ground me, that make life feel whole.

Instead of chasing the highs, I want to sink into the quiet joys, the ones that don’t shout for attention but stay, warming you like a fireplace that never burns out.

So, maybe the story is about the fireplace?! These moments—not the grandiose big events, not the country badges—but the steady, lifelong warmth that asks for nothing, yet gives everything.