When I first heard people talk about their 5-to-9, I used to roll my eyes a little. In the 20s, those hours were blind. I can rush from work to dinner plans, answer a few emails, or fall into bed with whatever synchronicity I can find. I thought “evening process” meant a list of tasks to complete, another opportunity to do well. But recently, as I’ve entered my 30s (finally! Yay!), I’ve started to think differently about this time. It is not something to rush or pass. My 5 to 9 method is optional.
For the past few years, I have experimented with what those next few hours would look like. Some nights, that means skipping the leggings to work quickly I didn’t get ahead. For others, it’s a backyard dinner with friends or an event that takes me out of my comfort zone. And in the middle of the darkness, the slow moons, crawling in bed at seven with a book, my cats and a cup of tea. These small shifts taught me that the perfect process doesn’t look the same every day – it’s one that meets you where you are.
Featured photo from our interview with Chloé Crane-Leroux by Michelle Nash.
How I fell in love with my 5 to 9 routine – and changed my daily routine
Designing your 5-to-9 process is a test of flexibility, not rigor. It’s about choosing what to fill your cup with – whatever that looks like tonight.
The more you approach your evening with gentleness and purpose, the better the next hours that follow your work day. They become the space where life happens.
Bringing back the revolution
For a long time, my evenings felt hopeless – a spillover from the demands of the day. I go into work, scroll aimlessly, and wonder why the hours seem to disappear. Finally, I realized what was missing: a moment of change. When I started marking the end of my work day with small, thoughtful rituals, I realized how much I felt. It wasn’t about doing more – it was about being more present.
Change your clothes. There is something symbolic about the exchange in “your comfies.” It’s a physical cue that tells your body: The day the work is done. Whether it’s a favorite pigeon or an overused button, comfort becomes the first act of self-care.
Light a candle. Warm light and subtle aromas set the tone for the hours ahead that invite you to slow down, breathe deeply, and enjoy being at home.
Fix the kitchen. Resetting your space resets your mind. Wiping the counter, stacking the dishes, or wiping the floors takes a few minutes but creates a sense of order quickly. It is a quiet way to prepare for relaxation. I like to think of it as opening your environment before opening.
Sensory wind – down
When the pace of the day finally slows down, I engage my senses. It helps turn ordinary times into something quiet special. These small choices remind me that care does not have to be difficult: it can live in encounters and in the fields that bring me back to me.
Get rid of the lights. In the evenings, I trade harsh lighting for soft candlelight. Shift feels almost emotional – it’s as if the room is coming out, inviting me to do the same.
Play something soft. Music has a way of shaping our emotions. Lately – as a nod to cozy sauce – I’ve been up to jazz or something similar. It turns dinner prep or folding clothes into a small act of celebration.
Engage your senses. I love misting the linen spray before jumping into bed. A small touch of emotion reminds me that I am happy what is here: Its warmth, the quietness of the pace, and the general beauty.
Cut on purpose
Late in the evening, I’ll reach for my phone to check one more habit or one text. But I’ve learned that my energy doesn’t change until my screen time does. Creating space to not retreat has been one of the most rewarding parts of my 5 to 9 method. Less about restrictions and more about reclaiming attention, space, and peace.
Set screen timeout. About an hour before bed, I try strength – not as a heavy regime, but as an opportunity to relax. Turning off the laptop’s notifications and silence helps me feel like I’m choosing my night, rather than letting it disappear into the feed.
Change some scrolling that crashes. When I reach for a book, a recipe, or my journal, I remember how it takes away the feeling of using my hands. Sometimes I’ll write a few lines a day or a simple, easy, healthy dinner plan to reconnect with myself.
Healthy times
When the evening settles in, I often crave something – something that brings me back to my body after a full day spent mostly in my head. Making a simple dish or a cup of tea has become much less about ordinary things and more about tradition. It’s the hour when I reconnect with myself – the soft, invisible joy that makes these 5 to 9 hours so special.
Cook something slow and comforting. Whether it’s soup, roasted vegetable dressing, or pasta, I rely on food that requires little effort but offers a lot of warmth. The sound it makes sounds like the heartbeat of a strong, soft, and living home.
Set the table, even for this one. Needless to say: a linen napkin, a candle, maybe a little red salt on the side. Creating beauty in small ways reminds me that nutrition isn’t just about what’s on the plate – it’s about how it feels to sit down and how it feels.
Love the moment. Whether I’m eating solo or with friends, I try to let the conversation linger — or silence, if that’s what it takes. This small act of presence turns an ordinary meal into something meaningful.
Show and return
When the day finally breaks, I try to finish on a quiet note. These are the times when I take stock: Noticing how I feel, what I need, and what I can let go of. It’s a small act of care that sets the tone for tomorrow.
Journal, but keeps it simple. I don’t force myself to fill the page. Sometimes it’s just one line about what brought me joy that day, or one thing I’m thankful for. Writing helps me get outside the noise and see the good that was always there.
Stretch, breathe, or move gently. Even five minutes of gentle movement helps me release tension that builds up throughout the day. Honestly though? I got into the habit of just sitting by the window, breathing heavily – the night air reminding me to slow down, too.
Take a breath. I got off the covers, sip tea, and get to my current reading. These small goals remind me that rest is not a reward – it’s a rhythm. And when I treat it like a sacred thing, even the lightest night feels like coming home.
Rest is not a reward. It’s a rhythm.
Soak up the silence
Over time, I have come to realize that dating and loving in the evening is about creating small moments that remind me that I am alive, right here, right now. My 5 to 9 normal changes and periods, with my own power, with the rhythm of life itself. But at its core, it’s about choosing softness over combat. When I allow myself to slow down, I remember that beauty isn’t something to plan for – it’s something to be seen.