Tiny Joys, Big Shifts: Micro-Moments That Change Everything

Author’s Note

My mind and my priorities have shifted greatly since before November 2025. I originally created See Life as a Muse as an art platform, a place to inspire others to express themselves in the most genuine and authentic ways. It started with painting, with beauty, with color and form, and feeling.

But over time, it transformed. From art into holistic wellness. From wellness into storytelling. From storytelling into something even deeper, a space to voice the truths I’ve carried, to write what I’ve learned, and to teach the tools that have helped me keep going.

This topic, these tiny joys, feels deeply aligned with why See Life as a Muse exists at all. Because this work isn’t just about healing. It’s about remembering joy. About choosing to keep your heart open to beauty, especially now, when the world feels loud and heavy.

I never set out to be “political.” In fact, I walked away from my job of 25+ years because I couldn’t be part of systems that demanded silence or compliance over care and humanity. I’ve always been more connected to human experience than political agendas.

I care about presence. I care about connection. I care about service, stillness, and soul.

But now we’re in a time where even humanity has become politicized. And so, this blog is my way of reclaiming the moment, the breath, the soft thing, the joy. Because when the world feels like too much, it’s these micro-moments that help us stay awake, grounded, and alive.

Why the Small Things Are Not Small at All

Some days, the weight of the world feels like it could fold us in half. We carry grief in our bones, our own, our ancestors’, our communities’. We wake up to headlines that shake our sense of safety. Our nervous systems become overloaded. Our hearts are stretched too thin.

And in the middle of all that noise, there’s a birdsong. A soft breeze brushes against your cheek. A flash of golden light catches the edge of a flower petal.

These are the micro-moments. The tiny joys. And they matter more than we think.

There’s a part of your brain, the amygdala, that’s wired to scan for danger. It’s an ancient survival mechanism, always alert. But when we’re constantly consuming bad news, rushing, or surviving trauma, this part of us stays activated. It’s like the “alarm” never shuts off.

Here’s where tiny joys come in. Noticing something beautiful, soothing, or awe-inspiring, even for just 5 seconds, can signal to your nervous system:

• You are safe right now.

• There is still good here.

• You are allowed to soften.

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This isn’t about pretending everything’s okay. It’s about building your capacity to stay rooted in both the pain and the beauty. To see life as a muse, even when it’s messy.

What Does This Look Like in Real Life?

That first sip of tea in the morning. A child’s laugh from the next room. Noticing a single feather on the sidewalk. The way your breath feels when you finally exhale. Watching your dog fall asleep with their nose tucked under their paw.

These aren’t just pleasantries. These are portals moments that gently rewire your brain toward connection, regulation, and hope.

A Daily Practice of Tiny Joys

Morning: Begin with a Tiny Anchor

Before the day sweeps you into its demands, claim one moment as yours.

• When you wake up, before reaching for your phone, notice one thing that feels grounding or beautiful: the softness of your pillow, the sunlight through your curtains, or the rhythm of your breath.

  
  

Whisper to yourself: “I begin my day with softness.”

Midday: Reclaim the Pause

This is when overwhelm often spikes. Instead of pushing through, use a micro-practice to reset.

• Set a gentle alarm once mid-morning and once mid-afternoon. When it rings, pause. Look around. Choose one thing to notice fully: the sound of laughter, the smell of your tea, the way the clouds are moving.

Take three slow breaths while holding that awareness.

Say: “Even in motion, I can pause.”

Evening: Savor What Stayed With You

As the day closes, reflection builds gratitude, and gratitude builds resilience.

• Write down (or say aloud) three micro-moments you noticed during the day. They don’t need to be profound. In fact, the simplest often hold the most weight.

Repeat: “I honor the beauty that found me today.”

On Heavy Days: Tiny Joys as Lifelines

Some days are harder than others. You may feel too heavy, too tired, too overwhelmed to practice. That’s okay. This is when the practice is not about doing more, but about letting one small thing in.

• If everything feels too much, place your hand on your heart. Feel one breath move in, and one breath move out. That alone counts as a tiny joy.

Remind yourself: “Even now, I am here. Even now, I can soften.”

Noticing Is an Act of Resistance

In a world that wants us to hustle, numb out, or fall apart, slowing down to witness a dandelion or savor laughter is radical.

Because you are saying: "My aliveness matters. My joy matters. My nervous system deserves softness.”

This is why I see life as a muse. Every splash of color. Every shape I see in the clouds. Watching the wind make the leaves dance.

These moments speak to something ancient in me. Something sacred. They remind me I am still here. That there is still beauty worth noticing. Worth protecting.

You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to carry it all. But you can let beauty in.

Tiny joys aren’t about escaping reality. They’re about creating the capacity to face reality with more wholeness. Over time, these micro-moments weave into something larger, a resilience rooted in softness, a hope rooted in presence.

Tiny joys. Big shifts. That’s the practice. That’s the invitation.