There are some joyful moments we don’t immerse ourselves in enough. Not the Instagram-worthy milestones. Not the promotions, the proposals or the passport stamps. The other kind - the quiet, almost missable kind that blooms in the middle of a random day and makes you think, okay. this is enough. This is actually enough.
The sacred moment when you get to sit with God before you sit with the world. Before you let anyone else need anything from you. Just you and Him, in the quiet. In that moment, something gets settled on the inside of you - you know you are held.
The moment when a song finds you at exactly the right moment. You're in traffic, or on a bus and then - a song. And it reaches inside you and wraps around something you didn't even know needed wrapping. The song takes you back to a special moment. It reassures you. Music remembers things about you that you forgot.
The moment when you finish something - before you let life hurry you into the next thing. You reach the last page of a book, you complete a project you’ve been staying up late for. There's a specific kind of joy and satisfaction in finishing things that beginning things can never match. It's evidence. You started and you finished. Not everyone does.
Moments when you're with a friend who just gets you. Not the version of you that has it all together - the real one. The one that's still figuring things out, still healing from something, still hoping for things you haven't said out loud yet. And somehow, without you having to over-explain or perform or shrink, they meet you exactly where you are. These moments are currency. Spend them freely with the right people.
Moments when you choose yourself, quietly. When you decide to leave the party when you are tired. When you order the exact food you actually want, and you enjoy it. Moments when you say no to something that would have cost you too much. Nobody claps for this. There's no ceremony. But you'll feel it - a small, solid thing settling in your chest that says: I know what I need and I'm allowed to have it.
Moments when you witness beauty you didn't plan for. The sunset that caught you off guard on your way home. A child laughing at something invisible. A stranger's earrings that were perfect. Flowers growing through a crack in concrete - blooming despite its situation.
The feeling of getting into a freshly made bed. I’m not quite sure if there’s a rational explanation for why this feels like a reward for existing, but it does. It’s comforting - like getting a genuine warm hug after a day of carrying things - emotional, physical, logistical things. Now you get to settle into what feels like rest.
We must learn to find the extraordinary inside the ordinary. To enjoy little pockets of joy that show up quietly. The ones that show up in the middle of the mess, in the gaps between the hard stuff. The joy that shows up in the warmth of a phone call, in the smell of rain and in the quiet knowledge that you are still here - still soft, still capable of being delighted. Always remember that doesn't always announce itself - sometimes it just appears quietly. And the women who notice the little joyful moments carry something extra with them through life. They give themselves permission to bask in it without guilt.
Hold on to your little pockets of joy fiercely like they matter - because they do.
Love always
D.Show 🤎