I was sitting on the 1 train on my routine commute to class last week. Across from me was a woman with bright pink headphones, enveloped in whatever song she was listening to, dancing like she was performing for a sold-out stadium. Just another day in New York, I thought to myself, and silently thanked her for the dopamine hit she unknowingly gave me. I watched as those next to her moved out of her way with annoyance, but she paid them no mind as she continued to dance. She was a star, god damn it! 

 

A few stops over, a little girl no older than eight took the seat next to our dancing queen. The little girl’s father watched with concern as her eyes continued to fill with tears, but from my vantage point, I’d assume she had no interest in telling him what had presumably happened at school. I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed this exchange–our dancing queen paused for a brief intermission as she noticed the little girl’s tears, her playful energy shifting to worry. She leaned down to the little girl, slid one ear out of the headphones, and said softly: When I’m sad, I listen to music. What’s your favorite song? For a moment, the entire train seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the little girl to respond. Or maybe it was just me. Our dancing queen was met with silence, prompting her to signal consent from the little girl’s father. He nodded, and no further words were exchanged as our dancing queen gently placed her bright pink headphones over the little girl’s ears. The little girl blinked a few times, her tears still fresh on her cheeks, as the music wrapped around her like the hug she seemed to have needed. She hesitated, then slowly began to nod her head to the rhythm. A small smile crept onto her face as if, for a moment, the weight of whatever had happened earlier that day was lifted. 

 

The train continued its journey uptown, and for a few stops, I was a silent audience to this quiet, almost unspoken exchange. As the train pulled into 116th, I glanced back to see the little girl swaying gently to the beat, her tears now replaced with a look of peace. I stepped off the train feeling like I’d just witnessed magic—those tiny bursts of goodness that, if you’re lucky, appear just when you need them. At that moment, and even if I had no part in the interaction, I felt like the universe or whoever is watching me up there, slipped me a note that read: Hey, you! Hang in there. It’s starting to get good, but only if you're willing to see it. Almost makes you wonder what other tiny, beautiful moments you’ve missed. 

 

Cute story, LP! Though, what for? I’m SO glad you asked! For most of you reading this, I’d like to believe I know where you are emotionally as you receive what I’m writing. The threshold of resonance may vary, but my hope is that somewhere within the rhythm that prompted you to read this now, you… I love spoilers!!! But most people don’t. So, you’ll have to wait til the end. Hope you stick around! Or don’t. Your business, not mine! 

 

As serendipity would have it–– or maybe my FBI agent is on their A-game on the other side of the screen–– I ended up with a video on my TikTok FYP talking about those fleeting moments of joy. Glimmers, they’re called. The inverse of triggers, glimmers can occur in a transient second. They’re small, everyday moments that cue our nervous system to feel calm and, in turn, trigger a rush of happiness, gratitude, and/or peace. Cosmic easter eggs of connection, if you will. They’re not the kind of thing you plan for– they sneak up on you, like when you hear your favorite song in public or see your (my) name on a license plate at least once every time you step out of your apartment. That day on the train was, for all intents and purposes, my most impactful glimmer to date. 

 

For someone like me, who is–– or I guess less so now (Spoiler!)–– perpetually in fight-or-flight mode, those momentary flashes of joy were easy to miss in my otherwise high-anxiety storyline. You could attribute it to rewiring my perspective or the very literal rewiring happening in my brain right now by a tiny little white pill (thank you kindly, Lexapro!), which have made these moments a little easier to spot and, in turn, all the more impactful. By the way, It’s amazing what a little brain chemistry can do. Way to go, Science! Turns out, the world doesn’t always have to feel like it’s on fire, and if you’re lucky, witnessing glimmers can start to feel like intentional gifts instead of happy accidents. All things considered, the impact of staying attuned to glimmers has helped me to breathe a little easier amidst everything happening in my life right now– not in the “everything is perfect” kind of way, but in the “I’m allowed to find peace even when things are messy” kind of way. If you know me, and presumably if you’re reading this, you know me well, then you know this is HUGE.

 

I won’t repeat myself by going into the complexities of the last month, so if you get lost, you’re welcome to retrace your steps by visiting all the things I was trying not to cry about. However, if you’ll let me, I’d like to invite you to my AD-style tour of the space between the pendulum. 

 

It feels almost sacrilegious to admit that despite the external commotion happening in Lau’s little universe– I’m actually more than just fine (Spoiler!). In fact, I’d go as far as to say I’m happy and not bracing for impact or anticipating the shoe to drop. What I withheld, as I told you my subway story, was a promise I’d made to myself in the thick of all the emotional tumult. The same one I made on my twenty-seventh birthday: release. A few days prior, following a conversation where all that I’d refused to process hit me like a ton of bricks, I realized how desperately I needed to let light in. So much so that maybe in focusing less on the glass half empty, I’d find myself on a train a week later, as a witness to a moment where it’s half full. How, in loosening my grip, my world is now full of little glimmers. 

 

I can pinpoint the current feeling of fullness to a whole host of things: school, time spent with my favorite people, or all of the ways I’ve chosen and taken care of myself in this season of life. Upon further investigation, your Honor, I’d like to adjust my preliminary claim. The space between the pendulum and healing after that is about surrendering control–– of how things “should” look, of the constant need to brace for the worst, or to name the feeling when you’ve got no interest in doing so. Instead, we ask the part of ourselves who are hurting what their favorite song is, and when they don’t answer, we put the bright pink headphones on them anyway. 

 

For most of you reading this, I’d like to believe I know where you are emotionally as you receive what I’m writing. The threshold of resonance may vary, but my hope is that somewhere within the rhythm that prompted you to read this now, you find something here that speaks to that quiet part of you that could use a little more light. In those moments where everything feels like it’s swinging from one extreme to the next, there’s a choice to be made. Not necessarily a grand, life-altering decision, this one is often barely audible– the decision to let go, even just a little, to make room for the good to settle in. It’s crazy, almost comical, how when you stop clinging so tightly to the idea that every problem requires a solution, the world has a way of softening around the edges. The glimmers start to slip through the cracks, filling the spaces where anxiety used to live. It’s not about pretending those very real problems don’t exist; it’s about making peace with the fact that, even when life is shitty, we’re allowed to seek those beautiful moments hidden in plain sight. Because sometimes, the world isn’t asking us to solve it—it’s just asking us to notice the good that’s already there. Like a woman with pink headphones, who, in a few short stops, will make a decision that changes the course of a little girl’s bad day.  

 

So, all my hoes in different area codes, I’m giving myself full permission to say that life is good. Grand, even. We’re taking the dubs where we can get them, and celebrating all the progress along the way. I’ve decided to stop apologizing for the length of my reflections because, well, this is my space and I’m the boss! I will, however, continue to thank you for reading my rambles and letting me know you found a piece of yourself in what I’ve written. It means more to me than I could ever put into words. Until next time, whenever that may be! 

 

Big hug, 

Lau