A new Devocion opened in my neighborhood. It’s a gem in the midst of tall, sleek office buildings and generic grab-and-go spots that characterize Midtown East. It’s going to be the newest addition to my rotation of coffee shops that have an unlikely homey, cozy vibe in this vicinity.

There’s a lot to love about Devocion. The sprawling plants and cozy setup differentiate it from the purely utilitarian caffeine fixes that dot the sides of Lexington Avenue. There is a rich, warm, buttery smell wafting from the guava and chocolate croissants as soon as one walks in. The baristas are friendly and willing to explain the differences between the drip coffee and pour-over with patience. People come in and go, some settle with a beverage and a colleague for a pre-work meeting at 8am, but amidst this activity it’s still possible to find a nook to daydream and doodle.

This Friday I walked into Devocion just for some space from my studio and my life.

I was undergoing an intensive hormone treatment that made me uncomfortably water-puffed and sensitive, restricted my movements, and still didn’t go as well as I hoped.

My mom was in the hospital, undergoing her third hip surgery in seven months (after a series of brain surgeries).

There was a real prospect of financial uncertainty for a long time due to family issues.

So I came to Devocion to drink a really good cup of coffee.

Finding refuge in a quirky coffee shop and taking a pause with a favorite hot beverage has always been part of my “self-care” ritual. When uncertainty lies ahead despite your best efforts, sometimes the thing to do is to sit down in someplace you love, take a breath, and feel the things that make joy possible in challenging times.

Sitting down with my Devocion coffee on that Friday morning, before the world started its demands of me, I had a flashback to a recent movie I’d seen but hadn’t entirely clicked for me until that moment: Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days.

Perfect Days tells the story of a Tokyo toilet cleaner who lives a small life, but lives it to the fullest.

When he’s driving to work, classic American rock music blends into the dawn, and he’s fully absorbed in it.

When he’s at work, he’s giving work his fullest, every part of his soul.

When he looks at his “tree friend” during his lunch break, he sees all its movement and subtle changes, day to day.

When he goes to the bathhouse after work, he is fully relaxed.

Is this really a perfect life? Hard to say. Some might find Hirayama’s rituals, the smallness, simply stifling. His rich sister, who we meet later in the movie, certainly seems to think that being a toilet cleaner is something to look down upon.

And Hirayama doesn’t have many humans around him. Perhaps, this is by choice. Or perhaps, as some reddit commenters pointed out, as a result of fear.

I had mixed feelings about Hirayama’s life myself. On the one hand, I questioned if he was perhaps running away from something. On the other hand, his life seemed too deliberately designed and curated to not be accidental. The choice to downsize, simplify, and ritualize can be a very deliberate one, which appeared to be the case for him. He designed his life around things that resonated for him, and cut away what didn’t.

And throughout the movie, animated by Kōji Hashimoto’s superb acting, he was so alive. Alive and moved by the small moments that add texture to life: music, books, a good meal after a hard day’s work, the light falling through leaves. His face retained a childish wonder, a pureness that is hard to come by.

Whether his life is perfect is up for debate, but the movie drilled down one point for me: that it’s the small things that remind us what it is to be alive in a life that sometimes feels like a checklist of worries and responsibilities. Especially at times when things move beyond our control.

So on Friday, at Devocion, I sipped my excellent coffee, typed away, and found that there was some space to still feel alive.