For a while, I thought I had lost my spark.

Not in a dramatic, world-ending way just quietly. Subtly. Like a light turned low enough that you don’t notice it at first. I kept showing up. I kept doing the things I was “supposed” to do. But something felt muted, like joy was present but just out of reach.

The truth is, I don’t think my spark ever disappeared. It was simply dimmed.

I didn’t find it again all at once. There wasn’t a single breakthrough moment or big life change. Instead, it showed up in small, ordinary places, the kind that are easy to overlook until you realize they’re exactly where you feel most like yourself.

I found it in living rooms filled with friends, watching shows and movies we weren’t too interested in, laughing endlessly at jokes that weren’t even that funny. The type of laughter that leaves your stomach sore and your face aching. The kind that reminds you that being fully present with people you love is a form of healing.

I found it on a ski hill with my best friend, where the day wasn’t about being good or fast or impressive (but honestly, we were all of those ;)). It was about laughing on the chairlift, pretending to be professionals all the way down the mountain, and talking about life in between runs. Cold air, flushed cheeks, and conversations that felt honest and easy. For a few hours, nothing else mattered and that was enough.

I found it in my runs. In the steady rhythm of my feet hitting the ground, in the quiet time to think or not think at all. Running has become less about pace or distance and more about reconnecting with my body, reminding myself that I am strong, capable, and alive.

And I found it in the kitchen, through baking and cooking. Measuring ingredients (loosely), trying new recipes, creating something from scratch. There’s comfort in the routine, joy in the creativity, and satisfaction in sharing food with others. It felt grounding, like coming home to myself.

What I’ve learned is that my spark doesn’t live in big accomplishments or perfectly put-together seasons of life. It lives in connection. In movement. In creativity. In laughter. In doing things that make me feel present and human.

Maybe the spark never leaves us. Maybe it just waits patiently for us to slow down enough to notice it again.

And right now, mine feels a little brighter. Not because everything is perfect, but because I’ve remembered how to let joy find me in the small, beautiful moments.