I eased the door open, letting a sliver of golden morning light slip into the dim room. My two friends were fast asleep on the bed, cocooned in a jumble of plush blankets. From beneath a subway cloud of white sheets, a few strands of my best friend E’s blonde hair peeked out.
The night before had been a blur of laughter and city lights. My Tufts friends and I had descended on New York for the weekend, our long awaited summer reunion. We rode the subway until well past midnight, devoured greasy slices of late-night pizza on the sidewalk and wandered through streets that seemed to hum just for us. By the time we stumbled back at 2 a.m., giddy and exhausted, it felt like we’d wrung every last drop of magic from the night.
At 7 a.m., with the city just beginning to stir, I knelt beside E and gently nudged her awake. I half expected her to groan, bury her face in the pillow and curse my commitment to the early-morning plan we had crafted in a burst of optimism the day before. Instead, her eyes fluttered open, and a small, knowing smile spread across her face.
We slipped out into the crisp morning and wandered through Central Park as the city yawned awake. Ducks basked on mirrored ponds. Runners glided past in rhythmic waves. We stopped to pet every other dog we saw, laughing at their wagging tails and eager sniffs. Breakfast was, naturally, warm New York bagels with thick, unapologetic layers of cream cheese. From there, we wandered to Blank Street Coffee, where — in a burst of unserious seriousness — we filmed a mock “coffee review” for an imaginary audience. As we made our way down Lexington Avenue, iced coffees in hand, we slowed our pace to peer into the windows of elegant brownstones. We let ourselves daydream, imagining what it would be like to one day live in the city. To this day, I consider that walk to be one of the best walks of my life.
E’s smile that morning wasn’t loud or deliberate. It was soft, almost instinctive, the kind that quietly says, “Let’s see where this day takes us.” And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. The city outside was exactly the same, but the way we stepped into it wasn’t. Her smile set the tone: a quiet current of optimism threading its way through bagel bites, passing dogs and a walk down Lexington Avenue.
There is perhaps something so utterly wholesome and spectacularly wonderful about someone who wakes up smiling. It’s a small gesture that ripples far.
My roommate is one of those people. It is one of the many reasons why rooming with her feels like a breath of fresh air.
I’ve always been a morning person myself. I love slipping out into the world while it’s still wrapped in silence — lacing up my sneakers for a brisk jog, or sitting by a window, fingers dancing on my computer keys. In the morning, I sneak around our room like I’m Tom Cruise in “Mission Impossible,” tiptoeing and rummaging for my laptop or shoes. Luckily, my roommate is a heavy sleeper, so my little morning side-quests usually go off without a hitch.
But on the rare mornings when my mission goes sideways and she stirs, eyelids fluttering open like a scene in slow motion — I hold my breath, bracing myself for a groan or an eye roll. It never comes. Instead, she does something unexpected every single time: she smiles.
That smile doesn’t just start her day; it transforms mine too.
You don’t have to be a morning person to wake up with a smile. You could rise at dawn or roll out of bed at two in the afternoon — it doesn’t matter. What matters is the promise you make to yourself with that smile — not that everything will be perfect, but that you’re here and you’re open to whatever comes your way.
People love to talk about the day as a blank page, but most pages aren’t blank. They come pre-creased — with yesterday’s coffee ring, a scribble in the corner, maybe a tear in the margin. Smiling at the start doesn’t erase any of it; it just gives you a steadier hand to write the next line. Some days, the line you write is ordinary. Other days, it’s unexpected. And once in a while, it’s extraordinary. The smile doesn’t decide the plot; it just keeps the ink flowing.
In the end, meeting the day with a smile isn’t about forced cheerfulness. It’s about choosing a posture of openness — one that makes space for growth, connection and the quiet beauties most people rush past. And that, perhaps, is where the real magic of the day lives.
