In a world that feels increasingly untethered, anchoring our days has become less a luxury and more a necessity. At The Atlantic Standard, we believe in deliberate rhythms—not rigid schedules, but gentle touchstones that hold space for both structure and spontaneity.
Our home is full—four children, each in a different season. College essays and early morning sports practices for one. Late-night study groups and driver’s ed for another. Math facts and science projects for the third. Storytime and sidewalk chalk for the youngest. It’s layered and often loud, but the rhythm of our days doesn’t rely on silence—it relies on return.
We begin with light. Morning light through kitchen windows, coffee in hand, a quiet moment before the rush. There’s no screen time until the sun has been greeted and the day spoken into existence with intention. A verse, a quote, a whisper of gratitude.
Midday, we reset. A walk outside, music playing softly in the background, a communal meal if we’re lucky. The house hums with life—teens on Zoom, a child finishing art, one off to a part-time job. It’s not perfect. It’s never perfect. But it is ours.
Evenings are sacred. Phones down. Lights dimmed. A meal prepared with hands and heart. Laughter, questions, storytelling around the table. Then books, baths, soft jazz—or nothing at all. Just the quiet of a day well-lived.
Anchoring isn’t about control; it’s about presence. It’s about returning, again and again, to what matters most. Head on over to my substack for more of my thoughts on anchoring.
What anchors you?
With grace,
Whitney
