The Red Thread

Joy isn’t always big or overwhelming. Most of the time, it shows up in quick, passing moments—the ones we don’t even realize are important until we’re in them.

It’s that instant when you’re laughing with your friends and you suddenly look around the room. For a second, you’re not just part of the joke—you’re watching the people you love, seeing how happy they are, and you feel something settle in your chest. You feel grounded. Present. Connected. It’s almost like your mind quietly whispers, “Remember this.”

Joy can be that simple.

It’s also in the moments when you’re out walking and the light hits the trees just right. Maybe it’s golden, maybe it’s soft, maybe it cuts through the branches in a way that stops you for half a breath. It doesn’t matter what season it is—there’s always something that catches your eye, something that reminds you the world is still beautiful, still moving, still worth noticing.

These tiny moments don’t last long. They come and go quickly, but they have a strange way of grounding us. They bring us back to ourselves. They remind us that even in the middle of stress or routine or uncertainty, there are small pockets of joy scattered everywhere.

We just have to look up long enough to see them