There I was—lying on a mat in the middle of nature, clutching a bowl of vegetables like it was a bowl of gold. A fork in one hand, a mouthful mid-air, and the breeze brushing against my face. No fancy cutlery. No five-star restaurant. Just me, the mountains, a forkful of greens… and peace.

And you know what?

 It was perfect.

This photo might not win any photography awards. My hair’s wild, the bowl’s metal, and the mat has definitely seen better days. But this moment? This was joy. This was healing. This was life reminding me—again—that happiness isn’t complicated.

After my stroke, everything slowed down. And at first, that frustrated me. I couldn’t move the way I used to. I couldn’t speak the way I used to. I couldn’t be the person I thought I was. But in slowing down, I started noticing what I used to overlook.

The taste of simple food.

 The sound of trees whispering.

 The warmth of the sun on my face.

 The feeling of being here, fully present.

I used to think fulfillment came from ticking big boxes—achievements, awards, applause. But now, I know it’s found in the tiniest, quietest of things.

Like eating greens on a mountain with zero table manners.

 Like being able to chew, smile, laugh—and truly taste.

 Like lying on a mat with nothing urgent to do but be.

That’s the gift.

So yes, I’ll keep chasing dreams. I’ll write books. I’ll tell stories. I’ll stand on stages when I can. But I’ll never again forget the power of small things.

Because at the end of the day, those are the moments that build us back up. That carry us forward. That whisper to us: you’re still here, and that’s enough.

So if you’re looking for peace, for joy, for healing—start with the little things.

Always.