Sometimes it hits me in the middle of absolutely nothing special. Standing in line for coffee. Walking past a convenience store. Standing in the classroom. And then suddenly—there it is. This weird rush, like a wave coming in fast and warm. For one second, everything lines up: my body, my breath, sharply ‘here.’

It doesn’t feel like joy exactly, or relief, or excitement. It’s quieter than that, but stronger. It’s like my brain stops scrolling through past and future and just… lands. No “what if,” no “I should,” no “I wish.” Just: this. This room, this street, this country, this age, this version of me. And instead of fighting it, I feel this wild, gentle yes rising up from somewhere deep. It’s a ‘flash of perfection,’ if I had to name it. I’ve experienced these moments throughout my whole life.

I always notice how physical it is. My chest loosens, my shoulders drop, my jaw unclenches. My eyes suddenly see more. Nothing about the situation has changed, but my angle has. It’s like I’ve been watching my life from outside the window, and for a second I step into the room. Just for a second.

Is that a thing? I don’t know the clinical term. Maybe someone would call it mindfulness or presence or a micro-moment of grace. To me, it feels like my life quietly tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “Hey. You’re not missing it. You’re in it.” It’s so fast, and then it’s gone. Nothing lingers. It essentially serves as a reminder to be grateful.

I think those tiny waves matter. They’re proof that underneath the constant static, there’s still a part of me that can recognize being alive as it’s happening. A little internal compass that, every once in a while, points dead center and whispers, Right here. This is it.

November2025