Caffeine. Nicotine (ish). Dignity (optional).

This wasn’t today. Let’s just get that straight.

Today started with lukewarm coffee, two half-packed lunchboxes, and the slow, creeping realisation that I was wearing clogs but no underwear.

This photo? This was a day.
The kind where I’d actually showered. Worn real clothes. Sat on a terrace like I had a handle on things. And yes—had a coffee. With my husband, no less.

Every day should start like this.
Most of mine don’t.

Which is why I took the photo:
To remember what it felt like to sit still. To feel just clean enough, calm enough, caffeinated enough to believe I could start a blog. Or a revolution.

That version of me?
She made eye contact with the waiter.
Ordered in not-terrible French.
Smiled, and meant it.

She was fleeting—but real.

And here’s the thing:
Both versions count.

The dressed-up café queen and the blanket-wrapped chaos gremlin—they’re both part of Living Out Loud.

Because this blog?
It isn’t about ideal days.
It’s about true ones.

So, for the record:

• No, I don’t always finish my coffee while it’s hot.

• No, I didn’t write this from a terrace with ambient jazz and a linen jumpsuit.

• Yes, I still believe this counts as showing up.

Living Out Loud doesn’t mean shouting.
It means being fully present—even in shapeless dresses, with essential oil diffusers working overtime to hold the day together.

This space is a beginning.
An archive of the half-finished, not-quite-there days that still matter.

And right now?
That feels like enough.