Moments of Joy
Reflections, Rituals, and the Journey Toward Joy
 There’s a small space on my desk that brings me comfort. It started as a way to make the everyday feel a little more intentional—a small collection of meaningful items that remind me to breathe, to be present, to soften.
One of the most recent pieces I added was a boldly colored bowl. Inside it sits a quartz crystal—clear, grounding, and full of quiet wisdom. Resting beside it are two silver dimes. I had nearly forgotten their origin, until this morning.
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 There are moments when life quietly hands you a mirror—so gentle, so unexpected—that it takes your breath away. This week, one such mirror arrived in my inbox, wrapped in Italian sunlight and ancient Greek wisdom.
It began with a word: Eudaimonia. I had never heard it before. But the moment I read its meaning, something in me whispered, Of course. It means more than happiness. It means flourishing. Living in alignment with your highest values. Feeling connected to your soul’s purpose. Allowing beauty, meaning, and joy to guide your path. It’s not fleeting pleasure—it’s enduring, radiant aliveness.  There’s a longing I’ve felt lately—a deep craving I couldn’t quite name at first.
It came in a quiet moment. I found myself yearning to look out my window and see a flower-filled garden and a dirt road stretching beyond it. I pictured myself in a soft linen dress, hands dusted with flour as I prepared homemade pasta. Fresh-cut flowers in a vase. Larry and I enjoying a slow, beautiful meal with a glass of wine, music in the background. The feeling was so familiar, so tender… and yet, I’ve never been to Italy. I turned to ChatGPT with the question: “Where does this yearning come from?” The response stirred something deep in me:  The first time I remember feeling discomfort while driving was years ago, when I was working at The University of Michigan-Dearborn. I was helping select furniture for a new director, and Susan, the director, kindly offered to drive us to some showrooms in Ann Arbor. As we merged onto the expressway, a strange unease crept in. I started shifting in my seat, avoiding looking at the road, and silently counting down the miles. It wasn’t intense, but it stayed with me — a quiet signal that something inside me didn’t feel safe.
What looks like a vignette is really a love letter to my own becoming.  It’s been a long time since I created a meaningful vignette just for me.
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