I don’t think joy announces itself.
It doesn’t come with music or milestones.
It comes in the middle of regular days—
if you stay close enough to notice.

It’s something I had to learn to see.
Not all at once—but slowly, over time.

For me, it shows up in many places:

When someone on my team gets recognized, and they look a little surprised but proud

When a friend calls just to ask, “Are you okay?”

When a small act of help actually reaches someone who needed it—not for thanks, just to know they felt supported

When my son says something wild, and I pause—not just to laugh, but to admire how he sees the world

When I sit in silence without guilt

When someone says, “Because of what you said that day, I tried again.”

These aren’t rewards.
They’re reminders.
That I’m still part of something—quietly, meaningfully.

That doesn’t mean joy is always sitting in front of me.

Some days I feel flat.
Some days I overthink.
Some days I keep doing, without feeling much.

But even on those days—joy isn’t gone.
It’s just quiet. Waiting. Somewhere under everything else.
And the more I stay close to what matters, the more often it returns.

Not as noise.
As presence.

Joy isn’t something I perform.
It’s something I protect.

I don’t chase it.
I notice it.
In little things I’m part of.
In small good that keeps moving through people.
In effort that feels real, even when no one sees it.

And over time, I’ve learned—this kind of joy doesn’t fade easily.
Because it’s not tied to big wins.
It’s built from small truths, lived fully.

That’s the kind I’m holding now.

Still learning.
Still living through it.
Still adding my digit.

– from me,
Lekshmana