In the Smallest of Spaces...

Lately, joy has been arriving in the smallest of spaces… the ones I used to overlook.

This morning, I stood at my kitchen window, coffee steam rising from my cup and warming my nose, and watched as the last of the golden leaves let go. Some drifted lazily, dancing their way to the earth, while others launched themselves boldly like torpedoes toward their ending. I smiled at their bravery and their grace, thinking that maybe life asks us to do both… to dance when we can, and to leap when it’s time.

I’ve been unpacking lately… not just boxes, but pieces of myself. In the corner of my office, tucked away in old cardboard boxes, I found my CD, cassette, and record collection. I hadn’t touched them in years. Dust rose like memory as I opened each case, remembering who I was when I first pressed play.
Last night, I set up my old stereo, stacked five random albums, and let them spin. The room filled with music and nostalgia and the sound of my own heartbeat. It was glorious… not because anything “big” happened, but because it reminded me how alive I feel when I reconnect with the forgotten pieces of myself.

Recently, I found a letter I had written to my future-self months ago… a love letter, tucked away in my “Space for New Things” box. I had completely forgotten about it. Reading those words today felt like a hug from an earlier version of me… a woman who believed in my strength even when I didn’t. She told me to keep going. She told me I was enough. She reminded me that healing doesn’t always roar… sometimes it whispers through music, light, and falling leaves.

And I’ve noticed something unexpected: these tiny moments of rediscovery are regulating something deep inside me. When I pause long enough to feel the texture of an old album cover, or watch a leaf spin in the morning air, my breath slows. My body softens. It’s as if my nervous system finally gets the message that it’s safe to be here… that joy can live alongside calm.
There is so much joy hidden in forgotten spaces… in the bottom of a box, in the melody of an old song, in the quiet courage of a leaf that lets go.

And maybe that’s where joy has been waiting all along… not in the grand gestures or the long-awaited answers, but in the small, still places where we finally remember to look.