Charles and I were sitting outside a cafe, splitting a slice of classic cheesecake and a bag of jelly beans we’d picked up on a whim. The day was easy, unhurried and then, suddenly, Charles grew tense. He stopped mid-bite, staring at the table. I waited a moment before nudging gently.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “Everything just feels heavy lately. Like I’m waiting for something big to happen—some major shift. Currently, I have got days like these. I keep wondering if I’m wasting time if I’m missing something bigger I should be chasing.”
“Charles,” I said, “you’re not missing anything. This—this moment right here—is life too. It’s made of conversations, glances and breezes that feel just right. You’re not waiting for your life to begin. You’re already in it.”
He looked at me—skeptical but listening.
“We think joy comes from the big stuff,” I continued, “but it often slips into the tiny cracks of ordinary days. You don’t have to chase it. Just notice it. Like how the cafe smells like fresh coffee. How this cheesecake is almost unfairly good or how you laughed five minutes ago without realizing it.”
Charles cracked a smile. “I guess I just want to feel like I’m moving forward,” he said.
“You are,” I told him. “Not everything has to be a leap. Sometimes it’s enough to sit still and remember that being present is its own kind of progress.”
He let out a long breath, like something inside had finally unclenched.
“Thanks, Bob,” he said. “I needed that.”
A couple of jelly beans rolled off the table. Charles bent down to pick them up, a smile forming.
“Hey,” I said, bending down with him, “sometimes a little perspective goes a long way.” He smiled.
To you, dear reader—if you’re waiting for something big, don’t overlook the small. Life isn’t just about milestones; it’s built on quiet Tuesdays, sidewalk cafes and familiar conversations with people who know your heart. That longing for something more—something grand and meaningful—is real, and it matters.
Here’s what I’ve learned: the magic isn’t always in the fireworks.
Sometimes, joy is already sitting beside you—in the flicker of a match.
