The Radical Act of Noticing Joy

Let the rain fall. Let the cat purr. Let that be enough for today.

The world is a lot right now. Most days, it feels like we’re carrying something heavy. Grief, worry, burnout, headlines that make us want to scream or hide. And in that weight, it’s easy to think that seeking joy is irresponsible. That pleasure is a privilege we haven’t earned. That to soften even for a moment is to look away.

But what if it’s not?

What if joy is not a distraction, but a resource? A practice. A lifeline. A quiet protest that says:

"I’m still here. I’m still human. And I still deserve moments of beauty."

Lately, I’ve been trying to pay more attention to the things that bring me joy. Not the big, life-changing stuff, but the tiny, almost-missable things that remind me to breathe.

Like rain in London after a stretch of heat, when the air smells like stone and grass.
Like Lucy, my tiny black cat, curling into the center of my body like she was made to fit there.
Like Oliver, my giant ginger Maine Coon, plopping himself between me and the monitor—his silent protest against productivity.

There’s afternoon tea, always.
Fresh sheets.
A perfect pen and a new journal.
The sacred moment when you turn the page on a great book and just sit there, satisfied.

These things don’t fix the world. But they remind me to keep showing up in it. And that’s something.

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So this week, I’m offering a gentle challenge:
Don’t numb out. Don’t ignore what’s real. But also—don’t forget to notice what’s still good.

Joy doesn’t ask for perfection. It just asks for your attention.

What’s one small thing that’s bringing you joy this week?