On small comforts, gentle joy, and letting ourselves feel it
I was reminded this week that joy doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it doesn’t come with big plans or perfect timing. Sometimes it just… pops up. Quietly. Unexpectedly. In the smallest, silliest ways—when we aren’t even looking for it.
It made me think about popcorn.
Not just the snack, but the feeling.
If you’ve ever lived with guinea pigs, you know exactly what I mean. “Popcorning” is what they do when they’re suddenly happy. Out of nowhere, they spring straight up into the air—little bursts of joy that seem to come from nowhere at all. No warning. No reason. Just happiness that can’t be contained.
And if we’re being honest, guinea pigs would absolutely try to eat popcorn if given the chance—because they want to eat everything. But the popcorning itself? That’s something special. It’s pure joy in motion.
Lately, I’ve been noticing moments like that in my own life.
Not the big, obvious happiness people expect. Not celebrations or milestones or perfectly wrapped moments. Just small pops of comfort. A warm snack. A familiar routine. A silly thought. A moment where I realize my shoulders have relaxed without me telling them to.
After loss, joy doesn’t look the same.
It’s quieter now. Softer. It sneaks in when I’m distracted, when I’m not guarding myself against it. And sometimes that makes it feel surprising—or even confusing. There’s a part of me that still wonders, Am I allowed to feel this?
But the truth is, these small moments matter.
They don’t erase grief.
They don’t fix what’s broken.
They don’t replace what’s missing.
They simply remind me that I’m still here. Still breathing. Still capable of warmth, laughter, comfort—even in the middle of everything that hurts.
Comfort doesn’t follow a calendar.
Joy doesn’t wait for the “right” time.
It shows up when it’s ready—sometimes exactly when we need it most.
And maybe that’s enough.
Maybe joy doesn’t have to be loud to count.
Maybe it doesn’t need a holiday or a reason or permission.
Maybe it’s okay if happiness comes in small, unexpected pops—like a guinea pig bouncing through the air for no reason at all.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to smile when it does.
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