It hit me while sitting cross-legged on a sticky wooden floor in an East Austin community center, surrounded by chaos. Half-empty paint jars were scattered across tables. Two kids were giggling while accidentally (and definitely on purpose) smearing green paint on each other’s faces. A teenager let out a groan of exasperation when her glitter project didn’t go as planned—apparently, glitter is both “too much” and “not enough” at the same time.

And yet, I was grinning like an absolute fool.

It wasn’t just the joy of escape through art making, or the odd satisfaction of watching a room of strangers slowly turn into collaborators. It was something deeper—an unshakable joy that surprised me with its intensity. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt this electric buzz. Not the performative kind of happiness reserved for Instagram highlight reels, but the kind that makes you feel alive, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. I was facilitating my first community art workshop, blending my love of creativity and advocacy, and it finally clicked: this is what makes me happy.

But let me back up.

Where Passion Meets Chaos and Glitter

I didn’t stumble into this realization overnight. For a long time, I chased fulfillment in all the typical places: career milestones, relationships, a very ill-advised attempt at taking up cycling (spoiler: I’m not built for Lycra). But nothing stuck. I felt disappointingly meh, like I was showing up to someone else’s life instead of fully living my own.

This aimlessness didn’t feel cute or quirky, by the way; it felt like there was a big, flashing “YOU’RE LETTING YOUR POTENTIAL ROT” sign blinking in neon over my head. I tried to quiet it by focusing on traditional measurements of success. Promotions, pay raises, mastering the art of making homemade sourdough—none of it really delivered the fulfillment I craved (and frankly, that sourdough was overrated).

The funny thing about passion is that, sometimes, you find it when you’re not even looking. My passion snuck up on me the way a cat nonchalantly decides to claim your lap as its personal throne. And once I recognized it—a mix of creating, connecting, and making others feel seen—I wondered how I missed it for so long.

The Roots of (Messy, Beautiful) Joy

Let’s rewind to my childhood in East Austin, where dinner table discussions often spiraled into debates about justice and community. My dad, a civil rights attorney, had this almost annoyingly compelling way of always seeing the bigger picture. My mom, an elementary school teacher who thrived on experiential learning, believed every challenge was just a “creative problem” waiting to be solved. If their influences were a recipe, I guess I turned out to be the accidental casserole—equal parts justice seeker, creativity lover, and idealist trying to balance all the moving parts.

Growing up, I was the kid constantly rearranging my room to “set the vibe”—a tiny perfectionist convinced that capturing the right feel could solve everything. My hobbies included creating elaborate art projects and mediating playdate arguments over whose turn it was with the cool markers. Even then, I thrived on connection but had no idea it’d snowball into something that could define my career or my happiness as an adult.

Fast forward to my 20s, and my life looked good on paper. A Master’s degree in Nonprofit Management? Check. A respectable job in arts education? Double check. But you know what? It all felt a bit hollow—like I was tentatively paddling through my own potential, waiting for someone else to tell me where to go.

It wasn’t until I spearheaded that first hands-on workshop in my free time, nervously opening the doors to strangers of all ages, that I felt the shift.

Why It Matters to Lean Into What Brings You Joy

Let’s get real for a second: feeling joy in your work—or in your life, period—can feel harder than scouring your crush’s Instagram for clues about their weekend plans (we’ve all been there). It requires tuning out the noise of what other people expect you to do and taking a chance on your intuition.

In my case, I finally realized that my core joy rested in facilitating moments that blend creativity and connection. Whether it’s kids laughing through a messy project or adults rediscovering that spark of playfulness, the “aha” moment hit me like a confetti cannon—unexpected and thrilling.

Here’s what I’ve learned: joy often comes out of the messy middle. You don’t need a foolproof plan or a Pinterest-perfect vision board; you just need to show up, try something, and let it evolve. (Bonus points if glitter is involved, though.)

How to Find Your Own Joyful “Aha” Moment

If you’re feeling stuck or blah in your own life, let’s work on it together. You don’t need to set your world on fire tomorrow to uncover what brings you electric, soul-shaking joy. Start small. Here are a few things to try:

  • Notice what makes you lose track of time. When time melts away, that’s a pretty good hint you’ve found something meaningful. Maybe it’s baking cookies, watching indie films, writing bad poetry, or orchestrating group karaoke nights (you absolute superstar, you).
  • Check in with your younger self. What lit you up as a kid? Sometimes reconnecting with old hobbies or interests reveals a lot about dormant passions. For me, it was making things with my hands and fostering a sense of belonging.
  • Experiment with no strings attached. Stop waiting for your hobbies or side hustles to turn into wildly profitable “successes.” Do something just because it pulls at you. Take a pottery class! Try stand-up comedy! The pressure-free space might just reveal what makes your heart sing.
  • Ask for feedback from your people. Sometimes your friends and family see your sparkle before you do. What do they love about you? What do they see light you up?

Trust the Glitter (Even When It Gets Weird)

If you’re still waiting for that “aha” moment, don’t worry—it probably won’t show up when you’re actively forcing it (like a stubborn cat who refuses to cuddle when called). But it will come. It might sneak up on you during a long walk, a chaotic creative night, or in the middle of laughing until your ribs hurt.

For me, it took stepping out of my comfort zone, embracing a little mess, and letting myself be human again. So many of us spend years trying to clean up our rough edges to fit other people’s expectations. But joy lives in those sharp, untidy edges—the place where we let ourselves laugh loudly, care deeply, and love through trial and error.

So go ahead, look for what makes you grin like an absolute fool. It might just lead you somewhere magic.