Today I caught myself grinning for no reason. I was just standing in my kitchen, making coffee, and there it was—a smile creeping up, easy as breathing. My old instinct is to check myself, to look around like someone’s going to ask what I’m so happy about. I keep thinking joy needs a reason, or maybe a witness.
Sometimes I still brace for the feeling to slip away. Like, if I get too comfortable, something will come along and tap me on the shoulder, remind me to be careful. But lately, I notice I don’t flinch as much. I let the good feeling hang out a little longer, even if it’s just me and the cat and some sunlight on the counter.
Being Black and queer, joy can feel like a rare song I only get to hear on special days. I grew up learning to be alert, to keep my soft parts tucked in. But this morning, I just let myself be—standing there, goofy and unbothered, wearing a faded t-shirt and socks that don’t match.
There’s something about letting myself have that moment, not explaining it to anyone. Not needing to earn it or shrink it down. Just letting it happen, gentle and ordinary. I realize I don’t have to hold my breath when joy shows up. I can just let it sit with me, quiet and real.
Right now, that feels like enough. A small, easy thing, but it’s mine.